


Burning a Dead Man's Fingertips

by GreenQueenofClubs



Series: Broken Hands, Reaching [1]
Category: Alex Rider (TV 2020), Alex Rider - Anthony Horowitz
Genre: AU, Adult Alex, Alex and Yassen are partners, Alex is a Sarcastic Little Shit and also a BAMF, M/M, Slow Burn, Yassen POV, Yassen defected to the MI6 and never met Alex, Yassen just can't escape the Rider Nonsense
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-22
Updated: 2021-01-09
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:02:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 37,925
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28245873
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GreenQueenofClubs/pseuds/GreenQueenofClubs
Summary: Maybe he had trusted Ian too much. Maybe Alex didn't really need his help. Maybe he was six years too late.But Yassen would be damned if he let the MI6 ruin another Rider.If he let them ruin Alex.
Relationships: Yassen Gregorovich/Alex Rider
Series: Broken Hands, Reaching [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2106729
Comments: 110
Kudos: 197





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> In this AU, Yassen defected to the MI6 after John's death, and they made sure he never crossed path with Alex, for many, many reasons. All the currently published Alex Rider stories happened, more or less exactly like in the books, even the ones where Yassen had been involved.
> 
> This fic is fully written, I'll upload every few days as I edit the chapters!

Yassen Gregorovich swirled his drink around in his glass, halfway turned towards the bar. His eyes lazily ran the length of the counter, with all the appearance of checking the other patrons, as if he wasn’t perfectly aware of all of them. They had been ranked from least to most likely threat the second he had stepped into the building, fifteen minutes ago.

One more swirl. One minute sip. Putting the glass back on the counter top, he made himself turn around, leaning back against the bar. Open posture, relaxed, almost inviting. 

In truth, Yassen wanted nothing less than to be in a noisy bar in Asunción, let alone to give the appearance of someone that would welcome idle chat.

But Jason Buckley was that kind of person. And Yassen had to start establishing his cover before he was supposed to approach his next target. He had two weeks, according to the latest intel Crawley had sent his way, right after he had completed his assignment in Argentina. 

Not much time. Not enough time, maybe, but Yassen was used to that. He’d make it work. It wasn’t as if MI6 had given him any time to breath for years now. Six years, with never more than a few days of downtime between missions, unless he was injured. 

Yassen Gregorovich was much too good at his job to be injured often.

Six years, exiled in South America, never given time to fly to Europe, let alone Great Britain or Russia.

Maybe MI6 had become worried about his loyalty again, after 20 years. Maybe they had clued in that he was starting to consider retirement, and had endeavored to squeeze as much use out of him as they could. 

Maybe SCORPIA had started stirring trouble about their wayward asset, and MI6 wanted to protect him.

Yassen forced his sardonic smirk at that notion into a pleasant grin, gaze lingering casually over a group of twenty years old that were singing into the corner. 

As if Alan Blunt or his successors would concern themselves about his safety. 

Slipping his fingers around the rim of his glass again, he took another small sip. The tequila was decent enough, if not his alcohol of choice, but he didn’t want to need more than one drink. The last thing this evening needed was for him to be tipsy and let down his guard.

He didn’t make for a pleasant drunk, he had been told.

His other hand, for the fifth time since he had sat down, was toying with his phone. Unremarkable, newly acquired but not the latest model. No contacts yet. Yassen had known the numbers he could need by heart, for years. There were the few that would give him a direct line to the MI6, should a situation require it.

The last one was just for him. It had been almost two years since he’d used it. 

He didn’t want to try Ian’s indulgence. The last couple of messages he’d sent, two and four years ago, had been answered shortly and to the point, if not rudely. Ian Rider wasn’t a rude man.

Yet. Yassen looked down at the phone, swiping the screen on, finger hesitating on the messaging app. He locked it again.

If he actually used the phone for that kind of message, he’d have to get rid of it right away. He might as well wait for the next day and buy off a cheap pre-used phone off a local. 

He leaned back with a quiet sigh. A couple middle-aged women gave him appreciative looks as they moved to the bathroom, and he returned them with a companionable tilt of his head. 

Alex was twenty now. 

Another sigh was cut-off, his fingers deliberately didn’t tighten around his glass. 

Twenty long years. Maybe after this assignment he’d officially tell MI6 he was retiring. He certainly had the money for it. Maybe before slipping away to Russia, he’d take the time to go to England, meet Alex properly at least once. Surely Ian would let him, if they coordinated beforehand about what was and wasn’t safe to tell the boy. 

He had to have at least one or two stories about John that were civilian appropriate. 

The doors of the bar opened again, the orange light of the setting sun streaking through the room as a group walked in. Yassen let his eyes linger on them long enough to note they were joining the group of young people in the corner, and turned back to the bar. 

No one had taken the implied offer to come talk to him. Good. Maybe he could quietly finish his drink and slip away to his new apartment, have the rest of the evening to himself.

Someone siddled to the bar to his right, a couple of meters away. Probably one of the newcomers ordering drinks for themselves and their friends. 

No. 

From the corner of his eyes, Yassen saw them drop on a stool with a loud breath, bending over the bar to rake their fingers through their hair. 

Pale hair. Not unheard of, but not usual either in this city. 

Bracing himself for being dragged into a conversation that would ruin his quick getaway, Yassen propped one elbow on the counter, turned to the other person. Loose shoulders, unthreatening smile, body angled towards them, but not fully facing them.

Casual and at ease. Approachable. Jason Buckley.

Probably feeling Yassen’s intention in a way most people were conditioned to from a young age, the other also turned to him, even as he was gesturing for the bartender.

All the air left Yassen’s body. If he had been any less aware of his environment, he might have looked around for the person who had punched him in the stomach. 

There was a ghost at his side. John Rider’s ghost, come to haunt him, here in this Paraguayan bar.

“Good evening.” The apparition said in Spanish. 

“And to you.” Yassen answered smoothly, forcing his brain to return to work. The man in front of him was young, younger than Yassen had ever known John. Early twenties at most. 

Alex Rider was twenty.

The bartender had arrived, catching the other man’s attention long enough for Yassen to take a large mouthful of alcohol to steady himself. By the time the brown eyes were back on him, surprisingly sharp and assessing, he was able to offer his right hand to shake.

“Jason Buckley.” He was glad his cover called for an American accent. His British one was perfectly passable to foreign ears, but wouldn’t pass muster for a Londoner.

“Alex Rider.” The other answered, shaking Yassen’s hand firmly.

Alex Rider.

Alex Goddamned Rider.

“British?” He asked calmly, as if he didn’t already know. 

“Yeah.” Alex answered, with a curious twist of his lips. “That obvious?”

“I can smell the posh from here.” Yassen exaggerated the American accent a little bit, smiling to include Alex in the joke.

“I guess I do stand out a bit.”

“Not anymore than the rest of us expats.” Jason worked for an American company with a franchise in Paraguay to take advantage of its textile industry. “First time in Asunción?” 

Alex nodded as he took a first drink of his beer.  
  
“Yep. Felt as good a place as any to take a vacation.”

As far as Yassen knew, Paraguay wasn’t exactly a common tourist destination for UK travellers. Then again, maybe that was the point. 

“Here with friends? Or family?”

That earned him a dry snort, and Alex took another long swig.

“Not much of either of those to be found.” 

Yassen frowned, leaning forward. Had Alex and Ian had a falling out? Spy work hardly made for a stable family life, especially for someone who had never actually wanted a family of his own like Ian, but he had seemed to care for Alex as well as he knew how.

“I’m sorry.” Yassen offered. “I didn’t mean to poke at a sore spot while you’re on vacation.”

Alex sighed, and combed fingers through his hair again, shaking his head. Yassen noticed he seemed tired.

“Don’t worry about it, mate. It’s on me. Work hasn’t been leaving much time for friends lately.” 

Jason nodded in sympathy, ready to contribute with his own stories of exhausting overtime. Yassen was busy wondering what kind of job Alex could have that would occupy him that much, when he should still be in school. Both his father and his uncle had gone to University, surely Ian had insisted Alex do the same? Maybe that’s what they had had a disagreement about.

Bang!

A loud noise cracked outside the building. A gunshot, or more likely, a car backfiring. Yassen barely took note.

What he did take note of, however, was the way Alex tensed. Not surprise, like most of the bar, not even fear, like a confused tourist. No, it was the almost imperceptible tension of someone preparing to jump into action, Alex’s eyes, already sharp on Yassen, had gone stone-cold, sweeping over the room. He didn’t look for the exits. An instinct murmured at the back of Yassen’s head that he already knew exactly where they were.

That he had mentally mapped the building when he first entered, the same way Yassen had.

His hand had also slipped a few centimeters. Again, nothing that would be noticeable to anyone that wasn’t trained to notice those signs. But to Yassen, Alex might as well have been wearing a flashing sign advertising that he was reaching for a weapon. Maybe a gun, or more likely, if he was indeed on vacation, a small knife.

Before he could blink, Alex had finished assessing the threat, or rather the absence of one, and was leaning back against the bar with a wry laugh.

“Sorry about that. Where did you say you were from again?”

Jason easily slipped into a comfortable routine of talking of his numerous nieces and nephews back home in Michigan. Yassen was reeling. He knew that body language. It wasn’t the attitude of a soldier, even if Alex’s hair hadn’t been too long for army regulation. It was the attitude of a covert operative, trained to remain discreet and under-cover until absolutely incapable of doing so. Even more, Yassen recognized, those were the reflexes developed by _good_ covert operatives, those that had been in the field for years, and had survived.

How on Earth had Alex learned those skills? Yassen felt cold wash over him as he inspected the boy as closely as he dared.

Now that he was looking for it, he saw the easy but graceful way Alex moved. How he had seated himself so the mirror behind the bar gave him full view of the establishment. 

The work that didn’t leave him much time for friends.

Alex was a spy. Alex Rider, twenty years old, was an undercover operative. Was he freelance? No, he was too young, and he wouldn’t have been careless enough to give his real name. At his age, he had to have been recruited by someone who knew enough about him and his family history to care. That left MI6 and SCORPIA. Again, a SCORPIA operative would never have gone by their real name, on vacation or no. 

MI6 then. 

A wave of cold, biting anger flowed through Yassen. How could Ian let this happen? Or had he encouraged it? Had he been proud to serve up his nephew to the nonexistent mercies of British Intelligence?

Yassen’s story trailed off as he finished recounting Little Casey’s latest capper at her aunt’s - Jason’s sister - farm. 

“They sound nice.” 

Yassen shrugged with a fond smile, hiding his growing emotion with almost two decades of experience.

“Family’s the most important thing in the world. I only wish I was closer to them so I could see them more often.” 

Perhaps it was a cruel thing for Jason to say, but Yassen could and would hide behind American Cluelessness if it meant he might get more insight into Alex’s relationship with Ian. The boy’s face twisted and he grunted, taking a large gulp of beer.

“Oh, I’m sorry, I forgot myself!” Yassen said with believable alarm, as if he had suddenly remembered Alex’s earlier remark. “I seem to keep stepping into painful subjects tonight. Maybe I should start taking it easier.”

Yassen made a show of pushing his still almost half-full glass away. Alex shook his head ruefully, and reached over to push Yassen’s glass back against his fingers.

“No. Don’t sweat it.” Alex’s voice was even, probably meant to ease conversation after his slip. “It’s on me. There’s no point getting mopey over someone who’s been dead six years.” 

Yassen felt as if his entire body had been thrown into a glacial pond.

Alex had only had one living relative. Ian Rider. 

Ian Rider had been dead for six years.

For the last six years, MI6 had made sure not only to keep Yassen Gregorovich in South America at all times, but had also kept him suspiciously busy.

Yassen itched to reach for his phone again. He had contacted “Ian Rider” twice in the last six years. Who had it been that had answered him? The Jones woman? Or had she delegated the duty of keeping him in check?

“There’s no expiration date on grief.” Yassen answered when the silence had stretched sufficiently awkwardly.

“Yeah. Maybe.”

Alex’s voice was pleasant, his body was relaxed. As far as the rest of the bar could probably tell, he was the picture of a British boy enjoying a vacation in the warmer climate.

To Yassen’s eyes, the ones that could take apart a target in seconds, when he wasn’t distracted by old memories, there was a bone deep weariness to Alex. Something that almost made Yassen want to reach over and squeeze his shoulder reassuringly.

With Ian Rider gone, when was the last time anyone had looked after Alex?

What had MI6 done with him?

Alex’s eyes flashed back to his, and for a moment Yassen wondered if he had been made. If he had looked at Alex too shrewdly. But no, instead of bunching with suspicion, the boy’s shoulder turned more fully towards him, and he leaned forward.

Yassen almost felt his gaze as Alex took a good long look at him, from head to toe and back again. The exhaustion was still there, but Alex had pushed it down, consciously or unconsciously kindling something else to distract himself from it.

From what Yassen had seen so far, Alex was too good of a spy to let those kinds of impulses run out of his control.

Jason Buckley, Alex Rider had decided, had talked him into a funk, but he might be able to fuck him out of it.

Yassen let him look. His own eyes never wavered from Alex’s face.

He looked remarkably like John. Same nose, same eye shape, same eye color. But there was something in the shape of his cheekbones, higher and finer, that had to have come from his mother. And his bearing was different somehow.

A few seconds later, just as he could see Alex finally about to lean closer, Yassen pushed his empty glass away with a convincing regretful sigh.

“I should get going, the boss is expecting me at dawn tomorrow for a field trip.” Yassen joked. Alex frowned, leaning back at the sudden shift.

Stand up. Wallet, phone, keys. Drop a decent tip for the bartender.

He offered his hand to Alex, and the boy jumped to his feet. His grip was firm, but his fingers were extended a little too far, brushing the inside of Yassen’s wrist. Yassen almost sighed. The boy was not to be deterred. He could already see him open his mouth, an offer on the tip on his tongue.

With his free left hand, Yassen deftly fished a business card out of his wallet. He handed it to Alex with a practiced regretful smile.

“I really must go.” He said, just loud enough to be heard over the din of the bar. “But maybe we could meet up again? Talk again without me putting my foot in my mouth?”

That seemed to stop Alex in his tracks, and he cocked an eyebrow at the card, flipping it over a few times. 

“Sure.” He finally relented. “Maybe you can show me the nice spots in the city.”

“It would be my pleasure, Alex.” Yassen smiled one last time, and took his leave.

Giving Alex the card was a small price to pay for a graceful exit. The phone would be destroyed within the hour anyway and Yassen would be out of the country before dawn the next day.

Out of sight of Alex, Yassen let any pretense of cordiality fall away. 

What had MI6 done to Alex Rider.

* * *

Sitting at a rickety table in a Venezualan remote safe-house he had acquired almost a decade prior, Yassen Gregorovich seethed. 

As soon as he had left Asunción, he had reached out to every shady contact he had made in his career, both his short-lived stint with SCORPIA and his long service for MI6. Everyone that might know someone that Yassen might intimidate into giving him information. 

Into telling him about something he really should have been aware of this whole time.

Alex Rider had been working for MI6 since he had been 14. The vultures had pounced on him the minute his uncle died, eager to cover up their own incompetence by gambling with the life of a child. Of John Rider’s child.

Every report Yassen received spoke of a teenager with the kind of skills that would make any senior operative jealous, and of a brilliant mind that could go against some of the most dangerous criminals on the planet and not only come out alive, but victorious.

Alex Rider had destroyed SCORPIA. Yassen might have been proud if he wasn’t so furious he could tear Alan Blunt apart limb by limb with his bare hands, never mind the mess

Alex Rider should never have met SCORPIA. Alex Rider should never have _known SCORPIA existed_. John Rider had died trying to get his family away from them. Yassen himself had given up his life and killed so that the baby could be safe.

And all of it had been in vain. Because Alan Blunt had gotten his fingers on Alex Rider and had turned him into a weapon, more dangerous and volatile than anyone could ever predict.

Yassen wasn’t an idiot. No fourteen years old in the world accidently acquires a skillset so perfectly suited to the life of an undercover operative the way Alex had. For some godforsaken reason, Ian Rider had decided to train his nephew for that life.

Yassen had fallen into his life of assassin because of misfortune after misfortune. Because he’d been born in the wrong place to get a good life. 

Alex was a smart, active, handsome boy from Chelsea. He should have been living a normal, honest life in the UK.

He should be happy. He should be safe.

Instead, he was tired and sad, drinking alone in a bar in Paraguay, where the best company he could hope to find was a washed up American textile salesman.

Still as a statue, fingers steepled in front of his mouth, Yassen’s mind flashed to death after death. Alan Blunt. Tulip Jones. Ian Rider. Alan Blunt again, more drawn out. 

Shaking his head, he leaned back in the chair, letting his fingers fall to the table. No, there was no way he could get to the MI6 with his thoughts unsettled as they were. 

Not when he had less than 2 weeks until his next assignment was due to start, at which point he would be expected to make contact with the bastards. He had 12 days to clear his mind and decide on a plan.

A man like Alex Rider, who had spent years going against the most dangerous people on this planet, willingly or unwillingly, had made a lot of enemies. A surprising number of them were dead, given that many of his contacts had noted the boy had shown a reticence to killing.

Many others, however, were not. Some old SCORPIA operatives, others assholes with too much money on their hands and not enough sense to count their blessings.

Yassen couldn’t get to Alan Blunt right now, but he could pick off the other threats to Alex’s life. Feeling the rolling in his gut settle a smidge, he straightened again, already scrolling through the various reports he had received, mentally compiling a list of targets from most dangerous to least.

Idly, Yassen Gregorovich wondered how many he might _contain_ in 12 days.

* * *

The answer turned out to be fourteen. Yassen couldn’t help but feel a bit of pride as he slipped back to the shitty apartment he had found to squat, in Belgrade. No sense in leaving a possible trail when he only needed it for a couple of hours.

He had never enjoyed the actual act of killing, never taken pleasure in pain. But after so many years in long missions with singular targets that had to be worked through carefully, there was a satisfaction to making his own plans, and using his skills to their fullest.

He had been lucky too. Three of his possible targets had been staying, by coincidence, in the same 4 blocks radius of Amsterdam. 

But now, 14 assassination later, his twelve days were gone. At the same time the next day, MI6 would notice their pet assassin was no longer in Paraguay. One of them, slightly brighter, might even notice that Alex Rider had also gone to Paraguay, assuming he had told his superiors at all. They might even, if they had gotten the good coffee that morning, link it to the trail of dead bodies and disappearances Yassen had sown about for a little over a week.

No matter what he decided to do next, it would be a lot harder if he had to worry about the international man-hunt Mrs. Jones would launch at the slightest sign of dissidence.

The question then was what Yassen decided to do. He settled down on the floor to methodically clean his weapon, the rote motions helping organize his thoughts.

First option. He could return to Paraguay, do his best to complete the assignment despite missing two weeks of prep work. Pretend he was still loyal and useful, and then announce he was retiring. Disappear in Russia and never think about the Riders ever again.

Anger, worry and guilt started welling up his spine as soon as he even gave shape to that idea, and Yassen dismissed it. Even if he could pretend to serve MI6 as he had, and he probably could, too much of his life had been shaped by the bloody Rider family for him to believe he could forget about them now.

Second option. Follow through with his first instinct. Slip to London and systemically pick out Alan Blunt and anyone else that had known about him conscripting a teenager and hadn’t done anything about it. Leave Alex the opening he could use to quit and live whatever normal life he might have after 6 years of spy work.

Third option. Go to Alex. 

Explain the situation to him. Introduce himself not as Jason Buckley but as Yassen Gregorovich. Let Alex make the choice.  
  
It wouldn’t be hard either. Alex was in Turkey. One of Yassen’s contacts in the MI6 had sent him a message a few days prior that he had been recalled from leave for an urgent operation against a local drug lord that had been aiming to expand his territory.

It wasn’t much of a choice when it was laid out. The more selfless part of Yassen, small though it was, reasoned that after being conscripted so young, and having most of his life dictated by people much more powerful than him, it was only fair that Alex got to have a say in the rest of his life.

The rest of Yassen wanted to see Alex again. More than that, he wanted to be able to confront Alex about MI6. 

He wanted to understand Alex better, what made him so good at a job he should never have had.

He wanted Alex to be by his side when he methodically ripped apart Alan Blunt and his team, the same way he should have stood by Hunter when he went against SCORPIA.

* * *

Finding Alex in Bursa was even easier than Yassen had been hoping. Even before he reached the address he had been slipped, he started seeing various badly disguised grunts buzzing around confusedly. 

They were doing some sort of sweep, bobbing in and out of buildings surrounding the old apartment block that was used as the drug lord’s headquarters. Knocking one of them unconscious to steal his beat up jacket and horrendous cap was the work of a few seconds. In the general mayhem, that should be enough to let him be unnoticed, at least long enough to grab the boy and disappear.

Yassen walked directly into the main building. That level of chaos was either manufactured intentionally, or the by-product of someone fucking up royally. Alex was a gifted spy with over 6 years of field experience. He would be right at the heart of things, using every second of the distraction he had created to further his mission, whatever his objectives were.

“You fucking rat!” 

The voice, raspy and deep, came from a corridor to the left, closer than expected. Edging to the corner, Yassen took in the large man, wearing a surprisingly well-tailored grey suit, pointing a gun at Alex Rider.

The man, with his fine clothes and his personal anger towards Alex was probably the drug lord the boy was supposed to target. Alex himself was wearing normal, unremarkable garments, except Yassen would have bet his khaki canvas jacket had more hidden pockets that most people who know what to do with. Perfect for squirrelling intel even after being searched. 

Even the most dedicated security usually gave up after four pockets.

Alex didn’t hesitate, crouching slightly, ready to pounce as soon as the other man actually attacked. He didn’t even try to reach for a weapon. Probably on his way out then, with whatever info he had found. No need to incapacitate the man meaningfully, just to get away from him and disappear into the night.

If he could avoid getting hit by the man’s first few rounds and get in safe distance quickly.

Alex Rider was, by all accounts, lucky.

Yassen Gregorovich was not a gambling man.

Before he had even stepped out from the corner, his barrel was smoking and the large man had fallen down to his one good knee, the other blown out and dripping blood on the old linoleum.

Alex spun to face him, stopping short as he saw Yassen. Whether he froze because years of working against them had taught him to clock trained assassins on sight, or because he had recognized Yassen from their brief meeting in Paraguay, was up for debate.

The way his stance changed from confident and ready to run to worried and thrumming with tension wasn’t. Yassen stepped a little closer in the corridor, lowering his gun enough to show he didn’t intend to hurt Alex, but not enough that he couldn’t react in a split second if necessary.

The drug lord might have another trick up his sleeve. So could any of the grunts that might walk up on them.

Alex was still assessing him, and Yassen worried he would run. The last thing he needed was to play cat and mouse with the boy past his MI6 deadline.

“Do you need him alive?” Yassen asked calmly, nodding to the man groaning on the floor. Alex tensed further, jutting his chin out.

“Yes.”

Liar.

Yassen considered finishing the man regardless, but if MI6 could be trusted to come clean up the operation in a timely fashion, leaving him alive was a minor risk. Best not alienate the boy early.

Instead, he bent down and slammed the man’s temple with the butt of his gun, knocking him out.

“Who sent you?” Alex asked, carefully keeping distance between the two of them. 

“Me.”

“Who paid for you to send yourself?”

“No one, as of twelve days ago.” 

“Were you spying on me in Paraguay?”

“No. You got lucky.”

“Did you follow me here afterwards?”

“No. I left the night we met. I had business elsewhere.”

No need to tell him about the fourteen bodies yet either. Not until they were in a more controlled environment.

“Why are you _here_ then.” Alex asked, taking a careful step closer to grab the drug lord’s gun from where it laid abandoned on the floor. Yassen let him, bemused. That seemed to puzzle the boy.

“I have business here, now.”

Alex’s eyebrows crumpled with frustration and confusion.

“If you’re here to kill me, you’re doing a shit job of it.”

“If my goal was to kill you, Alex, I would have let you bring me back to your room in Asunción.” 

The boy grimaced, not out of fear but out of embarrassment. 

“What’s your business then?”

“To see you. To speak with you.” 

“Then maybe you should have let me bring you back to my room in Asunción.” 

Yassen blinked in surprise at the sharp retort, at Alex’s defiant set of his jaw. Oh, SCORPIA must have _loved_ dealing with him. Choosing not to answer, Yassen took a few steps back to check back the corridors behind him, making sure no one was trying to sneak up on them. After a second of hesitation, Alex did the same on the other side.

“I was told not to follow strange men to their car.” Alex called back to him. Yassen waited until he turned back to him before answering.

“My name is Yassen Gregorovich.” 

Alex’s face dropped in shock, going bone pale. His gun lowered a fraction, to Yassen’s displeasure. So he had heard of him, somehow. By reputation, or because of his relation to his father? 

“SCORPIA said you were dead.”

MI6 had taken great pains to fake his death after his defection. That had been one of the reasons Yassen spent a lot of time in South America, which SCORPIA mostly left alone in deference to the cartels. Not that they cared about young, barely noticed Cossack half as much as they had about Hunter.

“SCORPIA made a habit of underestimating its younger trainees.” 

Alex glared at him, looking him up and down, drastically unlike how he had done it in the Asunción bar. Just as Yassen’s instinctual internal clock told him they were running out of time before getting interrupted, Alex gave a sharp nod.

“We get out of here, and then we’ll talk.”

“Do you need anything else from here?”

Alex didn’t bother answering that, stalking into the corner behind him. Yassen let him lead, following as he led them to the back door. Before he had a clear shot on either of them, Alex knocked out the guards, and sprinted to an adjacent alley without being seen. Yassen trailed him at a leisurely pace, hanging back to make sure no one was following Alex, secure in his anonymity for the moment.

By the time he rejoined with Alex, he had already started the car, and sent a pointed glare at Yassen when he calmly slid into the passenger seat. 

The ride back to wherever Alex would hole up waiting for extraction was silent and uneventful. Both of them kept an eye on the surroundings in-case someone was tailing them. 

First safety, then conversation.

Alex’s rendez-vous point was a decent apartment, at a twenty minutes walk from the historical center. Comfortable enough but not impressive, the kind a young tourist might rent for a weekend.

Yassen stayed in the living room as Alex did a sweep of the rooms to make sure nothing had been tampered with. He seemed to be acceptably thorough, and Yassen doubted he’d trust his word if he was to take over half of the checks. 

“You can sit if you want.” 

Yassen’s eyes turned to Alex for a moment before he nodded and took a seat in the armchair, leaving the larger sofa for the boy. Alex seemed wary of him, but not worried. If he was conflicted or upset about Yassen’s presence he hid it well.

He himself was an unreadable wall as far as the boy was concerned, he knew, but that didn’t stop the anger, the curiosity and the old, comfortable grief that rolled in his guts. 

Waiting for Alex to speak, Yassen once again allowed himself to be inspected. 

“Who did you work for, before twelve days ago?”

Maybe not the question Yassen had been expecting, but not an unreasonable one either.

“MI6.” Yassen hesitated, then decided honesty was probably the best policy. “I still do, for another couple of hours.”

Alex frowned, clearly taking a large note of the qualification.

  
“MI6 said you went MIA around the time my parents died.”

So the boy had asked about him. Yassen wondered if MI6 or SCORPIA had broached the subject of him first. Which one had, in all probability, broached the subject of _John_ first, with Cossack being an unfortunate footnote.

“MI6 had no reason to divulge my existence once I let them put a leash on me.”

“No reason not to tell me either, when I asked. If we’re working for the same team.”

Yassen weighed how to approach the subject, never looking away from Alex’s eyes.

“I think Alan Blunt might have been worried that I would be… protective of you.” He said slowly, voice as flat as he could make it. 

“Protective.” Alex sneered.

“Yes.”

“So what, they’d be worried if I contacted you, you’d show up at the next Parent-Handler Conference to tell them off?”

“A verbal confrontation isn’t what would worry them, no.” Yassen said. Measured. _Cold._

Alex stilled. Yassen wondered if this cold assessing stare was the same he had had for Julia Rothchild. 

As it was bound to do, the idea of that mad woman having her hands anywhere around Hunter’s child set his teeth on edge.

“When I met you in Paraguay.” Alex said, deliberately loosening his shoulders. “Was that a way to get around MI6's no-contact rule?”

“No.” 

Alex said nothing, expectant. Yassen sighed. It had been years since he had had to hold an equal conversation outside of cover. And he had never been an avid conversationalist to start with.

“There was no no-contact rule.”

“Did you know I existed?”

“Of course.”

“Then why did you never contact me, if you’re that _protective_ of me? I’ve been out there risking my neck for 6 years, and you’ve been what, sipping mojitos in Paraguay the whole time?”

Yassen decided to let the mojito comment slip, but leaned slightly forward, pining Alex with his gaze.

“Because, Alex, until two weeks ago, I was under the impression that you already had an _uncle_ that would protect you, on both our behalf.”

Alex’s hand tightened into fist on the cushions of the sofa.

“Oh.”

“Indeed. And I was under the impression that Alan Blunt, no matter how unpleasant I might personally find him, would not find it appropriate to conscript a child into his games.”

“Yeah, well, so did everyone else, that was kind of the bloody point.” Alex growled.

“So I understand.”

More silence. Yassen had no problems letting the awkwardness draw Alex’s questions out of him.

“What could you have done, if you’d known?” Alex’s voice was bitter, and Yassen half suspected he didn’t actually expect an answer.

“I could have taken you away. I could have dealt with those who used you in the first place.”

“Why?” Alex asked, and Yassen figured it was a fair question. Why would a world-class assassin care about a teenage boy he had never met?

“Because of your father.”

“My father’s been dead twenty years.”

“Yes.”

What had Alex been told about his father? Had Ian spoken of him? Probably not, Ian wasn’t someone who dealt well with emotions, and so much of John’s life had been confidential. What had MI6 and SCORPIA told him? Had Alex ever heard anything about his father from someone who wouldn’t lie to him?

Had he ever been told anything about his mother?

He was floundering, mouth half open. Whatever he’d expected, it hadn’t been loyalty to a man long buried. A man he himself had never known.

His eyes weren’t hard. It came almost as a surprise to Yassen. Alex’s eyes were bitter, sad, and more than a bit puzzled, but they weren’t hard. 

“What about now? Why crawl out from under your rock now? I don’t need you to come in and swoop me on your white horse!”

“No, you don’t. This isn’t about protection, Alex. This is about Blunt and MI6 facing consequences for what they’ve done.”

Alex leaned back, eyes popping wide.

“No.”

“He’s used you, Alex. He’s put you in danger you should never have faced. They need to be stopped.”

“No!”

“How many times did you almost die because of MI6, before you could even vote?” Yassen ignored Alex’s protests, applying more pressure.

“No!” Alex jumped to his feet, taking a loud step toward Yassen. “ _No_. I survived. I bloody survived, it doesn’t matter.”

 _You suffered_ , Yassen thought. _You suffered and you are still suffering. That matters._

He pushed the thought aside.

“You did. You were very good and very lucky. What about the next kid that falls into his trap?”

Alex froze, paling.

“There won’t be a next kid. I was trained since I was a kid by my uncle. I was just at the wrong place at the wrong time.”

“And you proved effective. You were very good, Alex. But you’re not unique. You are not unreproducible. Especially now that MI6 has the recipe.”

“There’s no _recipe._ ”

“Nightshade certainly figured how to make operatives from children.”

Alex reeled back as if slapped, eyes blazing.

“MI6 didn’t _brainwash_ me. They blackmailed me, because they thought I was the only one who could do what needed to be done. So I watch over them. Keep my ear to the ground. Make sure it doesn’t happen, from the inside.”

Yassen leaned back, looking up at the young man standing in front of him.

“Such loyalty.” He whispered. It was cruel. It was necessary.

“Fuck loyalty.” Alex spat. “You think you’re the only smart guy in the room? I’ve known Alan Blunt for years. Years with him and then MI6 playing puppet fucking masters over my shoulder. I know exactly what kind of asshole they are. But if he hadn’t sent me on that first mission? I wouldn’t have had those six years at all. I’d be dead from smallpox along with all the other British kids. Or maybe it would have been Sarkov’s nukes. Or Invisible Sword. Or the hundreds of other catastrophes Blunt stopped.”

Yassen might be dead. It was hard to tell, six years later, but he might very well have been in Colombia when Damian Cray’s missiles had been fired.

“You were fourteen.” Yassen couldn’t help but point out.

“Yeah. My life’s a shitshow. But I’m not going to condemn the world over my own bullshit.”

“Alan Blunt isn’t in control of MI6 anymore. His death wouldn’t impact their activities.”

“All the more reasons to leave him bloody alone. He doesn’t matter. The whole thing, doesn’t matter.”

Alex’s eyes weren’t hard. They seemed to burn through him. When was the last time Yassen had felt that kind of passion? Even his anger over Alex’s treatment ran cold. Patient, unyielding and inexorably mortal.

“Very well.”

Yassen yielded. Maybe he should have gone and taken care of the issue without involving Alex. But he wouldn’t make the boy do anything he was fundamentally opposed to. Maybe he could. Maybe if he kept pushing he could _convince_ him. But that would mean losing that fire. And in that moment, that seemed like a greater crime than all the assassinations Yassen had carried out in his long career.

Alex reeled back, surprised at his sudden change of tune.

“What?”

“If you are strongly set against it, I will not target Alan Blunt.” 

“Or the rest of MI6.” Alex insisted.

Yassen acquiesced with a bow of the head. Backing up a few steps, Alex dropped into the couch with a ragged sigh. How would the boy react if he learned he had extracted from Yassen Gregorovich a stronger promise on the safety of MI6 than Alan Blunt ever had? He worked with them because they were as good as anyone else. There had been no illusion on either side about him having any loyalty.

“What now?” Alex asked.

What now indeed. Yassen had fully expected to leave this evening to enact a plan to take out the heads of British Intelligence. Either with Alex by his side, or with his blessing. He could still leave. 

He _could_ still leave.

Why was that idea so distasteful? 

An image flashed, of Alex alone against a dozen of henchmen, on the next mission MI6 would throw at him. Alone, underprepared, left to his own wits and his own luck.

“A partnership. If you wish.” Yassen offered.

“What?” 

It was a fair question, if a little inarticulate. Alex was known to work almost exclusively alone. So was Yassen. Still.

Still.

“If Alan Blunt’s and his successors must stay, you should be better shielded against the dangers they throw you at.”

“I thought this wasn’t about protection. Now you’re volunteering to be my nanny?” Alex snarked, glaring suspiciously at him.

“Your partner. You are a capable spy. You do not need your hand held, and I do not have the patience to do so.”

“And I’m supposed to take this as a safe offer because… you knew my father once?” 

_Because your father is the one that allowed me to survive, and I would do the same for you._

_Because I won’t let Alan Blunt and his puppets destroy another Rider._

_Because your eyes aren’t hard, and they shouldn’t be._

“Yes.”

Alex pushed himself to his feet again, but disappeared into the kitchen. A cabinet opened and closed, then a faucet. If he was taking somewhat longer than one should to get themselves a glass of water, Yassen wouldn’t be the one to tell.

Unexpectedly, Alex handed Yassen a glass of water as he came back, drinking from his own as he sat down. For a second, Yassen wondered if he had slipped anything in it, then shook himself. He was asking the boy to trust Yassen with his life, both right now, and in the field. The least he could do was to trust him back to not drug his drink.

Deliberately, he took a long sip, waiting for Alex to gather his thoughts.

“Is this an offer I can refuse?”

There was no way Yassen would let Alex back to MI6’s absent mercies without looking out for the kid, through either security cameras or the scope of a sniper rifle.

“Yes.”

Alex scoffed.

“Liar.” 

Yassen’s lips curled into a small but razor sharp grin. To his astonishment, Alex answered in kind.

“Mrs. Jones won’t be chuffed about this.”

“If she has any wits left, she’ll realise it’s preferable to the alternative.”

“Eh. Why the fuck not. Not the worst company I’ve kept.”

Yassen felt something unwind a little in his chest, and he took another sip of his water.

“When are we leaving?”

“I’ve already sent them the info. I have a plane ticket back to London tomorrow morning. 10 am flight.”

Yassen nodded and pulled out his phone, buying a ticket on the same flight. Better to keep close to Alex until they could actually meet with the people in charge and lay down the situation.

“You said you thought Ian was still alive.”

“I did.” Yassen answered, finalizing the transaction. The phone would need to be disposed of, now.

“Did you ever talk with him?”

Yassen looked up, peering at Alex. The boy had let his head fall to the back of the couch, staring up at the ceiling.

“Face to face? Once. When I turned myself in.” Yassen said. “They assumed I’d be more willing to talk to him.”

It hadn’t really mattered, but it had allowed Yassen to get a read on Ian Rider. The man who had lost his brother and inherited a child, yet tried so hard to still be the perfect little agent.

“And not face to face?”

“I had his phone number. I’d contact him every few years. Ask for news.”

“News of what?” 

“You.”

Alex startled at that, turning back to him.

Yassen had never known if MI6 had made Ian answer him, throwing tidbits of information in exchange for good performances, and a handy reminder they still controlled the last person Yassen had any care for. Or if Ian indulged him himself, offering small, infrequent comforts to someone else who had cared about John, and had found his life upended for it.

“Really?”

“Yes. He even sent me a picture once. You were ten.”

Alex groaned, sinking back into the couch in an undignified heap.

“You had won some football championship, I understand.”

“He kept that picture on the fridge for _years.”_ Alex groused.

Yassen hadn’t kept the picture, of course. It would have been much too dangerous for Alex if someone had found it on him and decided to use him as leverage. 

But he had held on to that burner phone for a few more days that he should have. An indulgence.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warning: Alex and Yassen's mission is to investigate and dismantle a child trafficking ring. Nothing actually happens, but those topics are discussed.

If he couldn’t put a bullet between Alan Blunt’s eyes, the expression that jumped on Mrs. Jones’ face when he casually strode into her office right behind Alex almost made up for it. She was as used to wearing a bland mask as Yassen himself was, but that crack was there for the whole world to see, for a few seconds too long.

Yassen had remained coolly detached, not even stooping to dissecting the woman and her department with his eyes, but Alex hadn’t. The boy had smiled, sharper and more satisfied than Yassen had expected he had in him. This wasn’t the kind of smile people survived for very long, in Yassen’s experience.

Alex didn't wish harm on Mrs. Jones and MI6, but at this moment, Mrs. Jones _did not_ know that. 

“He followed me home.” Alex had said, gesturing lazily at Yassen, not looking away from his boss. “Can I keep him?”

And that had been that. Oh, they had argued, Yassen reminisced with a smile, as the scenery flew past his train window. Yassen had been dismissed from the room at one point, kept company by Crawley. Presumably, Jones and her underlings had given Alex all the distasteful details about his life that they had omitted beforehand.

Yet, Alex had seemed unruffled when he was sent to meet with Smithers to prepare for their assignment, and Yassen had had his time alone in the office.

They hadn’t tried to threaten him, to their credit. Yassen didn’t take well to threats, and they seemed to have some notion that they were only breathing by Alex’s grace. Instead they asked questions they didn't get answers to, about his motivations, about his intentions, about his reliability. 

And they had made promises. Promises of cushy retirement funds, of international legal immunity, of the locations of the last few loose ends Yassen himself had. 

Empty winds. They had nothing Yassen couldn’t get for himself if he had wished to, and everyone in the room knew it.

Now he made his way to Marseilles by train, to join with Alex who had taken a plane some time after he left. MI6 had equivocated that it was for their safety, that they should avoid being seen travelling together until the analysts could work out some kind of shared alias.

Of course, it was actually about giving themselves some more time to try and convince Alex to part with him, and a small petty comeback at Yassen for backing them into that corner. 

Yassen didn’t see any reason not to let them have their fun. Alex had texted him extensively since they had parted in the atrium of the bank MI6 used as cover. Nothing mission related, the boy was too smart for that, but some inconsequential story about an evening at a bar with a friend of his. 

Alex was trying to keep in contact, either because he was worried MI6 might make Yassen disappear once he didn’t have his eyes on him, or he was trying to reassure Yassen that the opposite wasn’t happening.

Either way, it was ingenious, and something a twenty year old would do. Yassen followed his lead, asking relevant questions at what felt adequate intervals, taking it in stride when Alex laughed at his “antiquated” method of messaging. And he appreciated the glimpse into what Alex was like outside of his work. He was fond of this friend -who was probably not actually named Remington- and was willing to be pulled into his antics, yet made sure to keep him safe, even if only from drunk assholes.

In Marseilles, he found Alex hunched over a tablet, swiping left impatiently. He also had a long streak of blue ink running from his right ear to his nostril. He had been taking notes on a legal pad, and had obviously caught himself with his pen. Suddenly, Yassen worried about his ability to wield edged weapons.

“Welcome to Marseilles. Hope your train was more comfortable than my flight. I think Crawley had me stuck between a baby and a snorer on purpose, that dick.”

Alex glanced at him, and caught his glaring at the pen.

“The notes are in a cypher, don’t worry.” He said misinterpreting Yassen’s look.

They might be in a cypher, but that seemed unnecessary to Yassen’s eyes as he took in Alex’s illegible chicken scrawl. 

“Mission?”

“Oh, I’m so glad to hear it went well, it’s true that trains are so much nicer than planes. I’m doing fine by the way. I was able to walk off the flight cramps. Thank you for asking.” Alex snarked, fingers already swiping back to the tablet.

Yassen simply arched an eyebrow at him, dropping his bag out of the way and approaching the table. Finding what he wanted, Alex pushed the tablet slightly towards Yassen.

“Child trafficking ring.” He said, at once professional and focused. “Operating from an old commercial building on the east side of the city.”

“Goal?”   
  
“Retrieving information about their buyers, and how they get their… ‘supplies’.” Alex answered, distaste obvious. “And of course, getting their current victims safely out of the building.”

Straightforward enough. The page Alex had shown him was full of information about the leader of the group, a middle-aged frenchman with slicked back brown hair and dull dark eyes. He had had some success in previous, mostly legal, ventures in shipping, but had been pulled into human smuggling a few years back, drastically augmenting his revenue. MI6 might not have bothered with him if they didn’t suspect he was selling some of his wares to prominent British citizens they very much wanted to have a _chat_ with.

"Strategy?" Yassen could already see a dozen ways of getting into the building, but getting people out of dangerous places alive was very much not his area of expertise. One person that he was in charge of guarding, sure. Possibly over a dozen scared and unpredictable children? Not as much.

“If it was just me, I’d probably try and slip in as a new security guard, but that’s always complicated, and they keep a close eye on the new hires. However, since you volunteered your services for this, I thought you might pose as a potential buyer, and I’d be your assistant-slash-hired muscle.”

Yassen blinked, eyes bouncing to Alex who was staring at him. 

“Why me?”

“Because I figured you’d make a better ‘creepy fuck with too much money to burn’ than little twenty years old me.” Alex shrugged with a grin. “Also, if they’re busy trying to get into your wallet, they’ll pay less attention to me.”

A decoy. Not a bad idea, if they both played their roles right. Yassen nodded, and turned back to the tablette, swiping back to the persons of interest in the organization. Knowing more about what made them tick could prove useful if he was to make nice with them.

Yassen felt Alex hesitate beside him. The boy had expected him to object to his plan, maybe to take control of the operation. 

“If you give me more details, I’m sure I’ll find something to argue about.” Yassen offered amiably.

Alex snorted and moved closer to him, methodically sketching his plans for contacting and infiltrating the facility.

* * *

Yassen waited until Alex came to open his door, stepping out of the car smoothly, already readjusting his suit jacket. The hideous red thing, pinstriped in navy blue, was not one Yassen would ever choose for himself, but was exactly the thing for Jacques Monet, flashy and expensive.

Alex caught his eye as he moved by him to close the door to the car, one last check in. Slowly blinking in answer, Yassen strode forward, Alex falling one respectful step behind him. The interior of the building was muted but comfortable, the walls a subtle cream color, with warm earthy colors for the armchairs and the tables carefully placed around the lobby. Yassen took as much as he could as first glance, shifting his attention quickly to the man waiting for him close to the counter. 

Alex, under the guise of his bodyguard, would be expected to make a much more thorough visual sweep than Yassen could afford.

It was an almost forgotten sensation, to leave part of his safety in the hands of someone else in the field. He wondered if Alex felt the same slight discomfort. Then again Alex was much less exposed than Yassen. It was convenient, as it would offer him more freedom while the bosses courted his “boss”, but it also meant that if anything went wrong, Yassen would be the primary target. Yassen could almost feel MI6’s watching eyes on his back, daring him to be less than fully trustworthy and cooperative. Daring him to go against Alex’s plan for the sake of not being in the spotlight.

“Monsieur Monet, bonjour!” The man offered, offering his hand to shake. Slightly overweight, with short hair and a well trimmed beard, he would be Simon Lemay, the second in command of the operation, and the man Yassen had been expecting to meet.

“Monsieur Lemay, I presume?” Yassen’s French might have gone mostly unused in his exile to South America, but after speaking to Alex almost exclusively in that language for a week, they were both confident in its credibility.

“Yes! A pleasure you could make it! Come, Monsieur Claire is eager to meet you.”

Of course he was. As far as their record showed, Jacques Monet had a lot of money, and a lot of friends with similar interests. Yassen followed him through a few tasteful but unremarkable hallways, Alex tailing both of them. 

Francis Claire’s office was much like the rest of the building. Was it an effort for anonymity as a precaution, or was he truly that dull of a man? In the neutral tones of the room, Yassen’s red suit clashed all the more, and he played it up, eyes trailing disdainfully over the non-descript furniture.

“Monsieur Claire.” Yassen shook the man’s hand as well, before sitting down carefully on the armchair, as if worried it might contaminate his clothes.

“Monsieur Monet. I’m very glad you could make it.”

Claire’s voice was pleasant and measured, but his eyes failed to light up in any way. This wasn’t a mask like the one Yassen could slip on; the man apparently didn’t feel anything. Yassen accepted the pleasantry with a tilt of his head.

“I was surprised to hear about your operation. I thought I knew of all the… businesses in France.” He said instead, giving the office another long look, finding it clearly lacking.

“We’re new on the market, Monsieur Monet, but committed to making sure our clients find what they are looking for.”

Children to molest, tailored to everyone’s special taste. Charming. At the corner of his eyes, he could see Alex holding himself deliberately still, the consummate professional, but Yassen didn’t doubt he was biting his tongue.

“Mm.”

“If you’re here, surely you’ve heard some good things about our service.” 

Claire was trying to regain some footing in the conversation, thrown off by Yassen’s attitude.

“My previous supplier proved to be _inadequate_.” Yassen sneered. “And the others I knew of had stains in their business history I couldn’t abide.”

Clear translation, Claire wasn’t Jacques Monet’s first choice, and the man wouldn’t have any problem walking out if they failed to satisfy him. Claire’s face remained impassive, but Lemay was shifting uneasily.

Amateur.

“Of course, we’d be happy to bring some of our current stock here so you can assess their quality yourself?”

“I have no desire to know what you think would impress me.” Yassen declared, snapping his finger at Alex. “My associate will go inspect what you have.”

Alex reacted right away, stepping to Yassen’s shoulder without a word. Claire’s jaw clenched, looking him up and down. Most men of Jacques Monet’s caliber had bodyguards meant to impress at a glance, tall and wide, with faces carved for dissuasion. Alex, no matter how good of a shape he was in, wasn’t built for intimidation, and Claire didn’t know what to do with him.

Never mind that Alex Rider was deadlier, when properly motivated, than any bodyguard Francis Claire had ever dealt with.

Finally, Claire nodded, and messaged for his own Head of Security to come and escort Alex to where the kids were kept. 

Now, Yassen had to make nice for however long Alex could justify remaining in the belly of the beast. He wasn’t a big fan of Alex going alone, no matter how strong their cover was, no matter how it was the right strategic choice.

He had to trust that Alex would stick to the plan and not unleash hell in order to get the children out right away.

“Will you need any additional supplies for your new charge?” Claire asked after a moment. “We have a reserve of clothes and personal effect should you desire them.”

Yassen snorted, leaning back a little in the chair, steepling his fingers in front of his lap.

“I assure you, that will not be necessary.”

“Right, you are an experienced buyer. Forgive me, Monsieur. As a young business, I’m afraid, we’ve been catering mostly to first-timers.”

It made sense, as newcomers, they’d have to do more outreach, which meant catching people who weren’t already affiliated to other providers. 

“Where do you get your stock?” Yassen asked. “My previous supplier got lazy, almost only had Eastern European wares.”

“Mainly North Africa, Monsieur.” He answered quickly. “Not out of lack of effort, mind you, but we wanted to establish a solid supply line before expanding. Lately we’ve been trying to pierce into Central Asia.”

Yassen forced a spark of interest into his expression, a raised eyebrow and a minute quirk of the lips. Claire caught it and settled slightly. 

“We’re hoping for the first arrivals before the end of the month. Maybe, if you don’t find what you want today, we can meet again then.”

“It’s a long trip from Nantes, to take twice in a month.”

“What’s a little inconvenience when it means getting quality?”

Yassen made himself smile and tilted his head, yielding the point. Claire leaned back, satisfied with Jacques softening attitude. His eyes were still dead.

There was a knock on the door, and Alex stepped back in, accompanied with two children. They were around ten, thin and scared, but seemingly in good health. One was a boy with light brown hair and green eyes. The other was a girl with darker skin and black hair. Their black shirts and black sweatpants were fitted enough to give a hint of their frames without being actually indecent. 

Yassen had no idea why Alex had brought these two with him. Maybe he had chosen at random. Maybe they were the least skittish of the children.

Eyes lingering with deliberate slowness on both of the kids, Yassen counted the seconds until he felt like he had given them the appropriate level of attention. He had no idea what a man like Jacques would be looking for, and didn’t especially care to imagine. So he kept his sweep even and unfocused. 

“These are two of our best, Monsieur. Very good manners, very obedient.” Claire said behind him. Yassen hummed in answer. “They’ve had all their vaccines, and passed their medical checks.”

“I’ll have to see those records.” 

“Of course, I’ll have Simon bring them to your room so you can look them over tonight.”

Yassen hummed and nodded, dismissing the children. Alex opened the door, and the Security Guard was on the other side, ready to bring them back where they were kept. 

“Speaking of which, I took the liberty to make a reservation for the both of us for dinner. I do hope you’ll join us?” 

“Of course. It’d be my pleasure.” Yassen lied with a cordial smile.

* * *

“Well that guy is just a bloody delight, isn’t he?” Alex declared after they checked and cleared their rooms in Claire’s building of the listening devices, and the one camera. There was a living room that doubled as Alex’s sleeping space, as well as a main bedroom and a large bathroom. As far as Yassen had ascertained there were a half dozen such suits in the building, two on the ground floor, and four on the first floor. Claire’s apartments occupied the second and last floor. The kids were in the basement.

Yassen was under no illusion as to what these rooms were usually for. Given Alex’s disgusted expression when they’d found the camera hidden behind the mirror in front of the bed, he was also very aware. 

“I found his opinions on global trade structures enlightening.” Yassen answered easily, unbuttoning his jacket and throwing it on a chair with something approaching gusto.

“Terrifying is what they were. I’m so glad the ‘new regulations’ make it easier for him to kidnap kids for sex criminals.”

“I’m sure Jacques Monet takes offense at the term.” 

“Yeah, well, Jacques Monet sucks at being a perv anyway.” 

“Pardon?” Yassen frowned at Alex as the boy flopped down on the bed.

“You heard me. I bring you what were probably two perfectly serviceable children, and you don’t bloody react. You had more emotion looking at your jacket this morning.”

“And what, exactly, were you hoping my reaction to two children would be, Alex?” 

“Yours? Vaguely disgusted indifference, I guess. From Jacques Monet, though, I’d have expected a bit of an ogle. A leer, at the least.”

“An ogle.” Yassen asked flatly.

“Or a leer, like I said, I’m not difficult. You _can_ leer, Yassen, right?” Alex turned to his side, propping his head on his hand like he was posing.

Yassen didn’t answer, moving to rummage in his bag for his toiletries.

“Come on, that’s important information. I need to know if my partner can give a proper leer.”

“Why would you ever need that information.”

“In case I need you as a honeypot! You never know when you need to seduce a rich, dissatisfied bride to get her husband’s secrets out of her.”

Yassen sighed, and put his bag down.

“You’re on my bed.”

“That’s because my bed is shit. And it’s not like you’ll be using it.” 

Yassen paused on his way to the bathroom, turning to Alex, arching an eyebrow.

“Security gets lax around eleven, it’ll be our best shot to get into Claire’s office for the intel and sneak the kids out.”

Yassen stared a bit longer at Alex until he relented and sat up on the bed with a sigh.

“I cloned the Head of Security’s phone while I was “inspecting” the children. There’s a shift change at 10, but they’re new kids and there’s only two of them.”

“And I get to accompany you on this venture?” Yassen asked.

“Sure. Always useful to have another pair of hands. Plus, it’ll give a good cover for being around the cells if the guards catch us before we get to them.”

“I’d be looking to... sample the goods.” Yassen completed quietly.

Alex smiled bitterly in response.

“What about cameras? Security systems?” 

“The security room is on the way to the cells, and the placement of the cameras in the area is sub-par. We’ll be able to sneak in and disable the whole thing on the way.”

“Exit route?” 

“There’s an exit stair at the end of the cell’s corridor. When I looked at the street view, there’s a backdoor that would fit the placement. They must use it for getting the kids in and out discreetly.

“Alright.” The boy had done an impressive amount of reconnaissance in the few minutes he had had to look around the facility. If his intel was right, of course. 

Alex grinned, pleased with himself and with Yassen’s approval, and flopped back on the bed.

“Alex.” Yassen sighed.

“I need a nap, and my bed’s shit. You can go read in the living room if you want.”

“And if I were also in need of a nap?”

“Have you seen the size of this bed? We could invite Claire and Lemay in and still have some spare room.”

Yassen tried not to shiver at the idea of sharing a bed with Claire’s dead eyes, and chose instead to settle in one of the armchairs with the laptop he had brought with him. Alex chuckled, from the bed, and shifted until he found a comfortable position.

Occupied by checking the news in various countries, Yassen wasn’t surprised when, at a quarter to eleven, Alex stirred without the need for an alarm. He stretched and stood, disappearing into the bathroom. Yassen took the time to wipe his laptop and slide it back in his bag. He wasn’t sure if Alex’s plans included coming back for their things, but leaned towards the no. If all worked well, MI6 would be on the premises for Claire long before sunrise, but Yassen hadn’t survived this long by assuming the best.

“Take off in ten minutes.” Alex announced as he walked back into the room.

“Do I need to bring anything?”

“Only your dancing shoes and a positive attitude.” 

Yassen huffed through his nose once, against his better judgment, and Alex grinned at him. 

The corridor was dark as they slipped out of the room. According to the camera feed Alex got on his phone, the guards were patrolling the basement, and Claire was the only other person on the premises.

It was almost too easy, but then, an operation of this prominence probably didn’t expect to face two of the world’s best operatives. 

First, they moved to the security room. It was locked, but Alex made short work of that as Yassen stood watch, ears straining for the sound of heavy boots on the wooden floor. Once inside, reprogramming the camera to show a looped feed and disabling the outgoing security alarms took Alex a couple of minutes. Soon enough they were on the prowl again. Disabling the cameras left them as blind as anyone trying to look in on them, and they took turns clearing corners until they reached the cell’s corridor. The guards were slumped on either side of the corridor, talking in low voices.

Alex and Yassen shared a look, and Yassen slid his gun in the back of his pants, relaxing his shoulders into Jacque Monet’s default stance. Alex nodded in understanding, and he moved to Yassen’s seven. Cover firmly in place, Yassen strode towards the guards. They straightened when they finally noticed the two of them approaching, but they didn’t seem worried. If anything one of them seemed to roll his eyes.

“No visiting the wares without Monsieur Claire’s approval.” The other told them politely.

“Now, I’m sure we can-” Yassen began amiably. As soon as they came close enough, Alex bolted, grabbing the guard to Yassen’s left. Without hesitating, Yassen twisted around, catching the second guard just as he stepped forward, wrapping his arm around his neck, forearm digging into his neck. As he waited for the man to drop, he watched Alex slam the other’s head into the wall twice. The guard slumped to the floor, still breathing but knocked out. Yassen’s joined him when he stopped struggling and fell limp.

“Office.” Alex whispered and turned back to where they came from. Yassen kept an eye out, in case Claire had been cleverer than they had expected.

Once in the office, even more monochrome and boring in the darkness, Alex stuck a USB pen in the computer, and waited for MI6’s software to do it’s magic, copying all the information without needing input from them. 

Ding.

Yassen strode back to the corridor as Alex snatched back the pen, and they made one last careful trek to the basement. The guards were still where they had left them, one of them snoring softly. Alex bent down to grab the keys from one of them, and opened the door to the first cell. A couple of kids, younger than the one Yassen had seen earlier, were huddled in the back.

“Send the signal?” Yassen asked quietly.

“Yeah.” Alex answered in the same tone.

Yassen fished out his phone and sent the letter “N” to the number registered under “Pizzeria”, as Alex brought the kids into the corridor. They came easily despite their wide eyes and shaking limbs. 

Good manners and obedience indeed. He hoped the MI6 showed Francis Claire the depth of their hospitality.

By the time they had cleared all the cells, they had 11 children with them. The two from earlier, who had been in the second to last cell, were staring at Yassen in confusion and distrust.

That was fair enough. 

It took a few more minutes to coax one of them into speaking with Alex and confirming that there were no other kids hidden away anywhere, but midnight hadn’t even rung but the time Alex led them up the stairs and into the back alley. 

MI6's transport was already waiting for the children. No arguments were made for climbing into the vehicle. Yassen allowed a few seconds of hope for them, wherever they ended up.

“That went well.” Alex breathed as he walked back to Yassen’s side, jingling a pair of keys. With a jerk of his head, he motioned for Yassen to follow him, leading to a non-descript sedan parked in a perpendicular street. 

The ride to the safe house was quiet, Alex tapping his fingers on the wheel in rhythm with the music.

Yassen expected him to slip to the bedroom to sleep until MI6 contacted them with news of their raid and the signal to leave town. Instead, Alex grabbed himself a glass of water and returned to sprawl on the sofa.

After a slight hesitation, Yassen sat on the love seat opposite it.

“That went _well._ ” Alex repeated.

“You sound surprised.” 

“Missions don’t usually go to plan for me. I was half expecting him to have a pet hyena guarding the cells, or for someone I had crossed path on a previous mission to be working as his personal masseuse or something and identify me. There’s _always_ one of those around. You’d think there’s like 12 people in the spy world.”

Yassen thought about the 14 old acquaintances of Alex’s he had assassinated a few weeks prior, but kept his tongue.

“Claire doesn’t have that kind of influence. You could have cleared this assignment by yourself with a hand tied behind your back.” Yassen pointed out, relaxing into the comfortable cushioning.

“No way. I mean, yeah sure, I _could_ have done it, but not this clean. Not without you giving me a cover and a reason to sleep on the premises. Leer or not, you made the whole thing run smoothly.”

“Any good partner could have done the same thing.” 

Alex snorted disbelievingly, and waved a dismissing hand. In six years, had the boy never had a decent partner who did the bare minimum to watch his back? Yassen had no illusion that he had been more than a shiny distraction today. Alex could have taken care of the infiltration part of the mission without his presence.

“If you want compliments, mate, you can just ask, no need to fish for them.” Alex grinned at him. Yassen could only blink in confusion. “If you want me to say I couldn’t have done without you, that you were the key to the whole operation, that whole thing, you just need to say so.”

“I assure you, Alex, I don’t need empty platitudes to prop up my ego.”

“Fair enough.” 

There were a few beats of comfortable silence as Alex took a few dangerous sips of water, still lying down.

“For real, though, thanks for taking my lead.” 

Yassen’s eyes found Alex’s again.

“This was your mission.”

“You’re an assassin with two decades of experience who’s used to doing things his own way. I’m a dumb twenty year old kid.”

“Alex, if you wish me to compliment your skills as a spy, you can simply ask. No need to fish for them.”

Alex threw his head back and laughed, before rolling smoothly to his feet.

“Yep, you know what. This just might work.” He said, gesturing enthusiastically between the two of them.

Yassen blinked slowly at him.

“This mission was a test.” He stated evenly. Alex arched an eyebrow at him.

“Of course. You knew that.”

“Yes. From MI6.” 

“ _I_ was the one who chose the mission, Yassen.” Alex said, voice a bit more chilled. “I’m not a moron, I’m not going to throw myself off the deep end with some unknown assassin at my back just because he knew my father once.”

Alex had deliberately chosen a mission and a plan that would put him the least at risk, and would test whether Yassen was trustworthy and would follow his orders. He had also chosen a target that was unlikely to be linked to any of their previous associates and muddy the waters. He had pushed carefully, like putting Yassen center stage for their cover, and springing the plan for their nightly operation without warning.  
  
Yassen wondered if even his carefree attitude had been calculated to analyze his reactions.

All to test Yassen, despite having given all the impression of having accepted his presence without question back in Turkey.

Slowly, Yassen allowed a smile to curl on his lips, and he bowed his head ever-so-slightly to Alex. 

No, Alex Rider was decidedly not a moron. 

Alex’s face split with a wide, victorious smile, and he bounded to Yassen, thrusting his hand forward dramatically.

“Welcome to the team.”

Yassen took the time to stand before he indulged Alex with a handshake.

“Where are the other members?”

“Dead. They couldn’t keep up.”


	3. Chapter 3

Yassen sighed as he parked his car in the empty parking lot they had chosen for the drop-off, taking in the low buzz of activity. About half a dozen MI6 agents were already milling about, taking notes and inspecting the truck.

Weaving through the people, Yassen’s eyes darted until he found the mop of golden blond hair he was looking for. Alex was speaking with Crawley near the back of the large truck he’d just hijacked. He was bouncing on the ball of his feet, hands stuffed in his pockets as if to keep himself from weaving them around, talking rapidly with the other man. 

By all appearances, completely unharmed.

Some bits of tension loosened in Yassen’s stomach. A stupid, useless worry. The boy had been able to drive the truck almost an hour out of their interception location without issue, of course he was fine. 

Yassen strode forward, ignoring the fact that he was putting his back to a bunch of MI6 operatives. They’d be mad to try to kill him with so few people, let alone in front of Alex.

The moment Alex spotted him, his intense expression bloomed into a pleased grin, and he waved him over energetically. 

“Yassen!” 

Crawley turned a fraction to welcome him with a nod, expression carefully bland. Alex however, threw an arm around his shoulders the moment he was within reach. Without thinking, Yassen stiffened in surprise, careful facade melting into shock for a fraction of a second before he schooled it, and relaxed his posture. He wasn’t leaning into the touch, but he wasn’t pushing it away either. Crawley, on the hand, had fully and visibly seized up when Alex had grabbed Yassen, and had yet to loosen, looking at the assassin like he was expecting him to snap Alex’s neck at any moment for the insolence.

Still confused, if composed, Yassen looked up at Alex’s face, still grinning. Alex’s pupils were blown out, too much for even this dark remote parking lot, and Yassen could feel him thrumming from where he was pressed to his side.

If he didn’t know better, if he hadn’t been by the boy’s side until the very moment they drove away for the mission, he’d have thought Alex was on drugs.

Adrenaline high.

“That was great, mate! I wish you would have been there to see it!” Alex said, squeezing Yassen’s shoulders to emphasise.

He was rather endearing like that, Yassen decided, radiating energy and the thrill of a dangerous job well done.

“Perhaps it was for the best that I was not.” Yassen answered camly. Having to watch Alex climb on top of a truck going at 120 kilometers an hour from a motorcycle going the same speed would probably not have been good for his blood pressure. Better to stick to traffic control and buying his partner as much time as he could.

That way, Alex didn’t have to try climbing on top of a moving truck _while being shot at_. 

Small victories.

Alex rolled his eyes good naturedly, still holding onto Yassen. From the corner of his eyes, he could see Crawley looking cautiously at both their faces in turn. 

“Is anything else needed tonight?” Yassen asked, turning his face minutely to him. Crawley frowned.

“No, we can handle it from here.” He said slowly, carefully.

Not waiting for whatever else the insipid man could think to add, Yassen nodded sharply and turned around, taking a few long steps. Alex didn’t follow, his arm slipping from Yassen.

The air was far colder than it should have been across his shoulders.

Stopping, he half turned around to look at Alex, who was also turned to him, expression stolen away by the back lighting. Yassen arched an eyebrow at him and titled his head towards the car in question.

Alex’s grin reappeared again, slower but pleased, and he jogged to join Yassen, easily matching the Russian’s pace.

“That was a _tad_ rude.” He commented as he buckled up in the passenger seat.

“I had no desire to stretch the proceedings.” 

“Maybe he wanted to debrief you?”

“You knew the plan just as well as I did, you’d have informed him of anything notable. Regardless, I prioritized getting you back to a bed before you crashed.”

“Crash? I’m not going to crash.” Alex’s tone was indignant.

Yassen hummed skeptically, pulling to the right lane as they approached the exit to their safehouse.

“Is that what you think of my stamina?” Alex spluttered again. “I’m not a sixteen year old kid getting laid for the first time, Yassen.”

Yassen’s mouth quirked at Alex’s exaggerated outrage, and hummed again, louder and more pointed.

“That’s it. You asked for it. I’m going to be up _all night_.”

“Good. You’ll have time to write our report then.”

“What? No!” 

Despite his words, as soon as they swept the apartment, Alex flopped on the large couch. After washing up quickly and changing clothes, Yassen returned to the living room with two glasses of water to his partner doing his best impression of an amoeba, sinking into the plush cushions.

His eyes, however, were still wide and alert, and he sat up long enough to gulp down half the glass before lying back down. There were no other seats in the living room, and Yassen went to pull one of the dining room chairs when Alex snorted and folded up his knees, relinquishing part of the couch.

Yassen considered for a long second, but relented when Alex rolled his eyes.

The second he was settled, Alex dropped his feet in his lap. Knowing better than to stiffen now, Yassen still hesitated, and sent a pointed look at the boy. 

Had he truly so little self-preservation instinct that he’d invade a world class assassin’s space without a second thought, or could he read Yassen so clearly already that he knew the man would not harm him? 

“That went _really well._ ” Alex breathed.

Or perhaps he was still high on adrenaline, Yassen thought, settling on the comfortable couch.

“Any situation where one must board a moving vehicle from another vehicle should not be considered ideal.” Yassen pointed out, sipping his glass. He himself had had to shoot out the tires of a couple of cars while driving his own.

“Yeah, but that wasn’t _our_ fuck up, was it? Our part went smoooooth.” 

Alex stretched the word with a slow wave of his left hand.

Suddenly, the weight of Alex’s feet in his lap disappeared and the boy jumped to his feet, pacing around the apartment. 

“Alex?”

“Sorry, excess energy. Don’t mind me.”

“Are you usually this restless?” 

He hadn’t been the last time, but infiltrating Claire’s operation had presented very few dangers, and no reasons for an adrenaline rush. 

“Nah.” Alex shook his head, then pushed a hand in his hair to put it back into place. “Usually, when I get into high-speed car chases, I also have to fight a dozen goons, dodge bullets, and maybe run 5 kilometers to safety. Tends to wipe me out.”

“So those are the limits of your famed twenty year old stamina.” 

Alex snorted and flipped him off. Somehow, Yassen found himself amused at that.

“Perhaps I should have let one of the cars slip by, if one succesful mission puts you in such a state.”

Alex gave an actual laugh at that, full and warm.

“Fuck no. 100 percent I’d rather be keyed up than deal with another bullet wound.”

Another bullet wound. Yassen pushed the anger down, looking up at Alex as he spun around, sighed, and dropped back on the couch. He was sitting next to Yassen, not touching, but close enough that they were sharing the same space.

“You did a good job.” 

Surprised, Yassen slowly turned to look at Alex, blinking a question.

“Crawley already gave me my customary “Well done Alex, England owes you once more” speech, but I figured you weren’t going to get one. So here you go, well done Yassen, I owe you for not getting shot in the bum.”

Yassen couldn’t remember the last time someone had praised his work. 

No.

That was a lie.

He could remember, it had been Hunter. 

But Hunter had never been like this, relaxed and open and warm, sitting right next to Yassen on a large couch. And Hunter’s professional appreciation for Yassen’s skills had not also been gratitude.

Because there was gratitude under Alex’s words, that Yassen had covered him, and that Yassen had chosen to be here by his side at all.

Warmth spread in Yassen’s chest. It was a bit bitter, and definitely angry, but it was warm, warmer than he could remember being, even with John.

And Alex’s eyes were still soft. Despite having to fight tooth and nails to survive in a world where the only support he had gotten was from a ruthless assassin, his eyes were still soft.

Not having the words to answer, Yassen offered his glass to Alex and smiled when he clinked his own against it.

* * *

“Are you sure you are comfortable with this manoeuvre?”

“We’ve checked the ropes a dozen times, Yassen, we’ve practiced for a week, it’ll be _fine._ ”

“You’ll be dangling out of a helicopter 500 meters from the ground, Alex.”

“And you’ll be flying the bloody helicopter. You’re not gonna let me down, right?”  
  
“Alex.”

“I’ve been to fucking space, Yassen. Get in the helicopter.”

* * *

“Would you teach me to shoot?”

Yassen stopped cleaning and inspecting his gun, slowly looking up at Alex. The boy was sitting on his living room couch, typing and frowning at this laptop. 

“I’ve seen you shoot.”

Alex might not have been an expert marksman by any measure, but he was perfectly serviceable, at least for what he actually needed. The boy was a spy, and his expertise laid in _not_ initiating violence, getting in and out of places undetected. He was also a proficient hand-to-hand fighter. Guns were always a last resort for him, and did well enough for that purpose.

Especially now that Yassen was around to offer sniper support when needed.

“Mostly pistols.” Alex shrugged. “Got a little training on Malagosto before I decided to skip, and MI6 stuck me in a range when I turned 18 for a couple of days. But I can’t shoot the wings of a fly, or whatever it is you do.” 

Yassen really shouldn’t be surprised anymore at MI6's treatment of Alex as a disposable asset, yet here he was. With that short of a timeframe, and with MI6’s no doubt lackluster trainers, it was probably only due to some innate ability of Alex’s that he wasn’t a terrible shot.

“That’s… regrettable.” 

“Isn’t it just.” Alex answered in the high-pitched snooty accent he had taken to use to mock Yassen. “So?”

Yassen didn’t pointedly didn’t sigh, carefully putting down the gun parts he was holding.

“I’m not a patient teacher, Alex.” 

To be fair, he hadn’t ever really been a teacher at all, but he knew himself enough to be sure of that much. No matter how tolerant he was of Alex in almost any context. He’d have to both break whatever bad habits the boy had picked up, and explain something that was as natural to him as breathing.

“Shocking.” Alex rolled his eyes. “Truly wouldn’t have guessed, with the _everything about you._ ”

Yassen blinked at him slowly, and Alex took it as the question it was.

“Two missions ago, you spent the entire return trip making ‘pointed comments’ about MI6 backup’s aim.”

The imbeciles had been dangerously incompetent. They had been just as close to hitting Alex and him as they had the actual targets. If Yassen hadn’t been able to shoot the assailants down while Alex drove them away, they would have gotten away. Yassen really didn’t have the time to add more entries on the ‘People who want Alex dead that I need to keep a track of’ list.

“Yeah, that’s the face!”

Alex was grinning, and he pushed his laptop away so he could join Yassen at the table.

“Come on. I learn fast, and I promise I’ll be a model student.”

Yassen raised a skeptical eyebrow at him and Alex rolled his eyes dramatically.

“Promise I’ll keep my big mouth shut during the lessons.”

Yassen made a show of hesitating some more, curious how many promises of good behaviour he could extract out of Alex.

“You know, if I know how to use guns better, I’ll be a lot harder to kill.”

Yassen knew he didn’t show any emotion, if only because he had perfected the skill years ago. Yet, Alex’s face split in a blinding grin, fully aware he’d won the argument.

 _Little shit,_ Yassen thought with what could only be called fondness.

“Call MI6. Tell them you’ll be gone for a month. Pack a bag for winter. And what you need to keep yourself entertained without internet.”

“A month?” Alex seemed surprised.

“If I am to teach you, I expect you to reach my standards.”

Yassen took some satisfaction at the boy’s sudden, obvious nervousness.

“Sir, yes, sir.” He still quipped as he left the room to make the call.

A few flights and a very long ride later, they reached one of Yassen’s oldest and remotest safe-houses. The one he had purchased before he even defected SCORPIA, before he chased Ash halfway around the world. It had been a precaution, in case MI6 didn’t offer him protection.

The cabin was simple, one open main room, a bedroom and a bathroom. It was completely off the grid, and far enough from any villages that they could shoot all day without alerting anyone. In the harsh winter cold, it was as close to an impregnable fortress as something could get.

“I’d have thought you’d have gone for Russia.” Alex commented as he followed Yassen into the cabin.

“So would most other people.” 

“Still, did you have to choose _Canada_ instead? Why not somewhere warm?”

_Because it feels like home._

“It’s inhospitable enough to deter most hostiles.” 

“So _they_ ’re smart enough to stay away, and _we_ ’re going to spend a month here?”

Yassen turned a flat look to Alex, and the boy shrugged with a wry grin.

“Lessons haven’t started yet, got to get my complaining in while I can.”

Without breaking eye contact, Yassen reached into the closet by the door, picked the first gun his hand found - a shotgun - and pushed it into Alex’s chest.

“Lesson 1.”

With no contact to the outside world except a satellite phone, there was little for them to do all day but train. 

Train with guns of course. They spent hours outside in the snow for target practice, but almost as much time inside disassembling and reassembling the guns, and making sure Alex knew the pros and cons of all of them.

But Yassen also took the time to teach him about other things, like survival in nature, winter driving, and in one memorable instance, sewing basics.

To his relief, Alex did hold to his promise to behave, and he seemed to soak up information like a sponge. His attention never wavered. He didn’t complain at Yassen’s brutal lesson plans, even when he was thrown out of the cabin in the middle of the night, half asleep, and told he wouldn’t be allowed back inside until he had sniped all the targets Yassen had set up.

If Yassen had been a gentler man, he might have appreciated the act of passing on his knowledge to the next generation, of having the closest thing to a legacy he could have hoped for. 

But Yassen, for all that he had tamed himself to fit in Alex’s shadow, was an assassin, and he was not gentle. He had never found any use for it, and he wouldn’t know how to do it. So he pushed and pushed, and Alex stepped up, every time. 

Yassen was proud.

That was not an emotion he was used to. Trust Alex to bring it out of him.

“Did my father teach you to shoot?”

It was dark outside, but that meant very little in the Canadian winter. Yassen was sitting on the couch, sketching in his small blank notebook, while Alex stretched over the rest of it, feet resting in his lap. Out of the corner of his eyes, Yassen could see him swipe nonchalantly on his tablet.

Yassen suspected that to Alex, physical contact was as much a comfort and a need as it was a power play. But now, it meant Yassen could feel the almost imperceptible line of tension running through his body. So small, he doubted he could have seen it, had Alex had been one for personal space.

“No.”

They hadn’t really ever talked of Alex’s father, or what his relationship to Yassen had been like. In fact, Yassen still didn’t really know what Alex had been told of the whole situation, and of himself, before he tracked him down in Turkey. 

They had never talked of the fact that Yassen had had, in those few short months, a longer relationship with John Rider than Alex ever had.

Silence stretched as Alex waited for a longer answer. With a resigned sigh, he tensed, starting to pull his feet away. A weird pull tugged at Yassen’s navel, and he dropped one of his hands to Alex’s ankle, not holding it tight, but enough to still him.

Alex froze, staring at Yassen for long seconds, before relaxing back in his previous position, dropping his tablet to the small side table.

“I learned the basics of shooting at Malagosto.” Yassen finally explained, not entirely unwillingly.

It was hard to put words on a life he had resolved long ago to never share with anyone.

“Unlike you, I finished my training. I was good at it, already top of my class. John, Hunter. He was the one that showed me how shooting in the real world was different from target practice.”

“He made you an assassin.”

Yassen almost smiled, almost told the boy how he had been reluctant to kill, and that John had been the one to train him out of it. He also didn’t tell him how John had tried to steer Yassen away from the life of crime. Even twenty years later, there was a tangle of emotions and bitterness there that he had never cared to untangle.

“He gave me the tools I needed to survive.”

“By teaching you to be a killer.”

“Hunter didn’t make me join SCORPIA, Alex. He simply made sure I could live with my choices.”

Alex looked away from him, toying with the fraying edges of the couch’s cushions. Yassen let him, going back to his drawing, despite how much of his attention was still on the boy. 

“Are you here because of him?” 

Alex’s voice was muted even in the silence of the cabin and the woods around them. Yassen’s first instinct was not to answer. He already felt raw from talking about John, about SCORPIA, about the kid he had been. 

And Alex wouldn’t pry. Would let the matter drop and never ask again. He had more than his share of subjects he wouldn’t speak of, deflecting with sharp jokes and easy smiles.

The second was to answer no. To deny that a ghost twenty years buried had any hold on him. Yassen was what he had made of himself, and even the MI6 had understood they only controlled him as much as he allowed. 

But that was a lie. If Alex had been anyone’s son but John Rider’s, learning that MI6 was using a 14 year old as a spy would have inspired at most vague disapproval from him, easily forgotten. 

The third answer was yes. Maybe that was the easiest. He had loved John, in a way. He had kept an ear on Alex over the years because he had been the last piece of John that Yassen could reach. But then, he thought of warm eyes, of pride, and of late evenings going over plans or just sharing space as he sketched. He thought of sharp words and defiant smiles. He thought of the way Alex was always reaching for him, power play or not. 

“Not on good days.” 

It tasted like the truth.

* * *

“Why did you decide to join MI6?”

“I’d burned my bridges with SCORPIA, and they were the only ones I had any leverage with.”

“What kind of leverage?”

“Ash’s head.”

“Ash? Who the bloody hell is Ash?”

“Your godfather.”

“Why the fuck did you kill my godfather?”

“He killed your parents.”

“Oh.”

* * *

“This might sting a bit, but if you behave and keep still, I’ve got a lollipop with your name on it.”

Alex’s amused eyes flashed up to his face just long enough to catch Yassen’s unimpressed, flat look, before he went back to putting some alcohol on a small pile of gauze. Sitting straight backed at the table of their current base, Yassen inspected Alex’s confident gestures as he prepared everything he’d need.

The wound on Yassen’s left arm wasn’t alarming, but the bullet had cut in a bit too far in the flesh for it to be considered a graze. Still, being covert operatives having just carried out an assignment in a country MI6 definitely shouldn’t be in meant they couldn’t risk a hospital.

Yassen was fully capable of treating himself, but Alex had obstinately refused to let him do so, batting his hands away everytime he moved to grab the bandages or the needle. The boy had even insisted to be the one to remove Yassen’s coat, insisting he could aggravate his own injury.

“Don’t even think about it.” Alex warned, not even looking in his direction.

“I have not moved.”

“You were eyeing that towel pretty strong there, mate.”

He had, in fact, been eyeing the stitching thread, but there was no un-incriminating way to say so.

Finally done with laying out the material on the table, Alex scooted his chair even closer, tilted Yassen’s arm to get a better angle for the light, and pressed the gauze soaked with alcohol on it.

Yassen pointedly ignored the slight sting, just as he’d ignored the lancing pain of the wound, watching Alex. When he noticed, the boy smirked at him and patted his uninjured arm patronizingly.

“Well done. Keep it up, and you might even get a sticker!”  
  
“A sticker.” Yassen couldn’t help but state, in mild confusion.

“Yup. One of those gold stars ones, or maybe a cute cat. Oh, I know. A helicopter!”

Yassen had made the mistake of showing a bit too much appreciation to a helicopter they’d used on a mission in Mexico, and Alex had pounced on that tidbit of information like the sharp predator he often pretended not to be.

“You are being worryingly cheerful about me being shot.”

“I honestly didn’t think the first one of us to get shot would be you. People are _always_ shooting at me.”

“We have not all been blessed with the luck of the devil.”

“Luck my ass. Maybe you just got too slow to dodge bullets when you were busy living the easy life in South America.”

“You know, I think most would expect me to be the heartless one in this partnership.”

“Sod off, it’s barely bleeding. And it’s not everyday I get the proof Yassen Gregorovich is human.”

Everyday Yassen was with Alex was a proof of just that, but the boy was smug enough as it was. 

“You are not the only one who witnessed that.”

Yassen wasn’t actually worried about his reputation taking a hit. No-one of import had any reason to believe some nobody guarding a nothing compound actually shot the unfailing Yassen Gregorovich. Yet it stung a bit that he hadn’t had the opportunity to retaliate, in their somewhat chaotic exit.

“It’s not like he’ll be able to tell anyone.” Alex’s voice went flat and hard suddenly, but he dabbed at Yassen’s wound with the same careful gentleness he had before.

Yassen blinked, and arched an eyebrow at Alex, who was studiously inspecting the wound for any debris and not looking back at him. 

“I might, um. Have shot him. A few times. In the head.”

Yassen had gotten shot just as he’d been getting into their escape car, and had been too focused on getting it started and rolling despite his injured arm to look back at who had gotten lucky. He had expected Alex to cover the both of them. He had also expected that Alex would do so using the same incapacitating but ultimately non-lethal shots he’d had taken to, since they had come back from their training retreat in Canada.

Alex didn’t like killing. He especially disliked killing when there were other alternatives. Yassen pushed back on the warm feeling seeping under his ribcage.

“Thank you.” 

“You can thank me by _not_ trying to grab those bandages.” Alex’s smile was only slightly forced, and Yassen indulged him, relaxing his arm in his hold.

“I’m perfectly capable of tending to my wound.”

“So you’ve said. But keep going, I’m sure it’s just as thrilling the fifth time around.”

“It’s only my left arm.”

“Oh yes, don’t worry, I’ve already had a minor existential crisis trying to imagine how I’d deal with you if you’d gotten hit in the _right_ arm.”

“I’d still be able to take care of it.”

“Of course you would. Nothing can stop the Great Yassen Gregorovich. Except, you know, random grunts lost in the woods using weapons from the 70s.”

The glare Yassen sent Alex might have been more effective if he hadn’t been about to push the needle in for the first suture. Inhaling, Yassen let the sharp pain flow through him without another sound.

“Also, if you’d done this yourself, you wouldn’t be able to add any flair.”

“Flair.” Yassen’s voice was flat.

“Sure. You know, put some words in the stitches so you get a cool scar. Something like “I <3 my rifle”, or “Rachel”.”

“Who is Rachel?”

“No idea. Wouldn’t that keep people guessing? The MI6’d have a field day about it.”

Yassen huffed through his nose, mirroring Alex’s bright grin with a curl of his lips. 

“No words.” He didn’t need another identifying mark. The one on his neck was bad enough.

“ _Fine,_ if you have to be boring about it.”

Alex’s sowing was more assured than Yassen would have expected, and he finished quickly. As Alex turned to grab the bandages to cover the wound, Yassen angled his arm so he could inspect the neat little stitches. He hummed in appreciation loud enough for Alex to catch.

Knowing he had meant to be heard, Alex rolled his eyes when he grabbed his arm again.

“No need to sound so surprised.”

“I didn’t know you had had medical training.”

“You’re not the only one who had to patch themselves up. Taught myself some basics. Few years ago, I had to lay low for a couple of weeks in Scotland, and made friends with the local vet. She helped me practice the more involved stuff.”  
  
“Like stitches.”   
  
“Yup. Practiced on a bunch of bananas and pork bellies. Even helped her with a couple of strays before I had to leave.”

“And I am your first human patient?”

“Ha! If only you’d be so lucky! I was my own first human patient, thank you very much.” Alex tapped a spot on the outside of his right thigh. “Not fun, when you’re shaking from the adrenaline and don’t have access to anaesthetics.”

After nearly six months of working with Alex, Yassen was proficient at ignoring the bouts of anger and worry that would bloom every time the boy offhandedly mentioned another instance of MI6’s failure to look after him.

Alex finished placing the bandage and inspected his work with a satisfied grin, and something seemed to relax in his expression, in the minute lines of his forehead. Relief. 

Warm again, and uncomfortable for it, Yassen still let Alex look as much as he needed. 

“Yep, looks good to me. Should be right as rain in a couple of weeks. Just don’t tear your stitches, or you’ll drop lower than the bananas on my list of patients.”

“What about the pork belly?”

“They’re already way above you.”

Alex pushed his chair away, probably to wash his hands. A weight on his chest, Yassen reached out, laying a careful hand on Alex’s shoulder. When he stopped, angled just enough that he wasn’t looking at him, Yassen squeezed gently. He knew Alex would understand his gratitude. Just like he had known Yassen could have tended his wound, but had decided he refused to let him do so.

Just like he had decided to take care of Yassen, despite his reticences.

Haltingly, Alex brought up his own hand around Yassen’s and squeezed once in answer.

Alex did drop a lollipop on Yassen's plate the next morning, whistling as he sauntered away. Yassen snuck it back in Alex’s toothbrush holder when the boy wasn’t looking.

* * *

“Rider residence.”

“Who the hell are you?”

“Ah. Miss Starbright I assume.”

“I know _my_ name, who are _you?_ Are you Alex’s new boyfriend? Why didn’t he tell me he had a boyfriend? You sound old. How old are you?”

“Alex is currently out on errands, would you like him to call you back when he’s done?”

“Wait, he said he got some kind of new spy buddy. Is that you? Jason something?”

“...”

“If you hang up on me, I’ll tell Alex.”

“Yes, Miss Starbright. I’m Alex’s new partner.”

“Alex’s partner. Who is at his home when he’s out, and answers the phone for him.”

“... Yes, Miss Starbright.”

“Tell the little shit I’m expecting to be his Best Man. Tom can be flower boy.”

* * *

Yassen was roused from his book by an insistent knock at the door. A look at the clock told him it was almost one in the morning. Frowning, he slid to his feet, putting the book down carefully on the coffee table. Anyone trying to attack him would be stupid to sacrifice the element of surprise by knocking, even as a distraction.

Still, he grabbed the gun he kept in the drawer of the entrance table, before looking through the fish eye.

Sighing, Yassen took a step back to open the door.

“Alex.”

His partner was leaning on the wall by the door, eyes slightly unfocused, sweating. Yassen took an involuntary step forward, as if to grab him, eyes rapidly inspecting him from head to toe. There were no visible injuries, perhaps the boy had been poisoned?

“Yassen.” Alex slurred, in an approximation of Yassen’s flat tone, stumbling forward. Now closer, Yassen caught the scent of beer that wafted around him.

Ah. Self-inflicted then.

“What are you doing here, Alex?”

Slowly, brown eyes found his, blinking as if trying to see through murky water.

“Your flat is closer than mine.” He answered, as if it was self-evident.

“I know for a fact that you can afford to call a cab.” Yassen sighed, already stepping to the side to let him in.

Alex swayed into the hallway, trailing a hand on the wall, but surprisingly not actually needing the support. 

Yassen had never seen the boy drunk. He didn’t take alcohol on missions, and had never drunk more than a pint of beer in Yassen’s presence. But then the whole point of Yassen getting his own apartment, instead of moving in with Alex as the boy had offered, was that they _wouldn’t_ constantly be living in each other’s pockets. 

“Did you have a nice evening with Tom?” Yassen asked evenly as he followed Alex to the main room.

“Fuck off.”

Yassen faltered, blinking. Alex could be a sarcastic, mouthy little shit when the mood struck him, usually to Yassen’s entertainment, but he was never actively abrasive. 

“Alex?” 

Alex didn’t answer, walking all the way to Yassen’s small window, before swaying, turning to the kitchen, stopping again, and turning back to the living room. Slowly, making sure to always remain in Alex’s line of sight, Yassen joined him.

Alex’s hands were clenching and unclenching.

“Tom’s degree is going well.” Engineering, something that seemed to amuse Alex immensely the last time he’d spoken of it to Yassen.

“That’s good.” 

Alex seemed too intoxicated, or too lost in whatever was going on in his head, to notice Yassen treating him like a spooked animal.

“He’s got a new girlfriend. Met her at a school karaoke night.” Alex’s voice was raspy but flat. “Took her for a movie last week.”

Yassen hummed encouragingly.

“I’ll never have that.” Alex’s voice faded to a sandy whisper, eyes boring into the polished wood of the living room’s floor. “A boring, comfortable life.” 

“Would you want it?” Yassen asked just as softly, standing in front of him. He could barely restrain the urge to reach out to Alex’s chin and tilt his head up enough that he could look him in the eyes.

“I would have liked to have the _choice._ ” Alex spat, fists clenching until his knuckles turned bone white. “But that was never going to happen, was it? Even if Ian hadn’t died, he was already training me to take over the bloody family business.” 

Alex finally looked up, eyes a furious inferno. The only time Yassen had even seen him angry had been when he’d offered to kill Alan Blunt, but that had been nothing to this.

“Ian would have given you a choice.” 

“And what a choice that would have been! ‘Want to spend the rest of your life behind a desk, Alex, or do you want to go on cool missions around the world like you're awesome uncle? Like your _father_ ?’ I’d have been a dumb twenty year old kid who wouldn’t know better and I’d have _said yes._ ”

Alex took a step backward, throwing his hands wide, upper lip curling into a razor sharp sneer.

“But that doesn’t matter, does it? Ian _is_ dead, and I was fourteen, and I didn’t get a choice. No one asked me. They sent me to save the world, and then they did it again and again and again, and no one bothered to tell me that all it’d cost me was my _future!_

“Even if I could walk away from MI6, I’d spend the rest of my life wondering if I could have stopped whatever catastrophe made the news. I’ll never be able to date anyone, because there’s about 75% of who I am that I will never be able to explain to someone who isn’t a bloody spy. And I would keep expecting one of the dozens of people with a grudge against me to put a bullet through their brain...”

Alex took a ragged breath that morphed into a sob, and he pushed the heel of his hands into his eyes. Yet when Yassen tried to get closer, he stepped back again.

“I was dumb kid, and all the adults knew better than me, didn’t they. Well done, Alex! You saved the world Alex, just like we told you to, Alex! Go dance for us, Alex, we’ll keep you safe, Alex, except we never will! We know better than you Alex, just shut up and fucking _dance_ Alex!” As he spoke, his voice rose and rose until he was shouting in the stillness of the night.

“Саша.” Yassen let himself slip into Russian, not liking how Alex’s voice had broken over his own name. He hadn’t thought he still had a heart to break, but Alex Rider seemed set on proving him wrong.

“You did it too.” 

Yassen froze again, feeling his stomach drop.

“You decided I was in danger, and you came to ‘save me’, six years too bloody late. And it didn’t matter what I said, did it? Stupid little Alex who doesn’t know better, you were going to _protect_ whether I wanted it or no.”

“You accepted my offer.” Yassen murmured.

“If I was going to have a fucking assassin playing guardian angel, I figured I might as well be able to keep an eye on him.” 

The unease in Yassen's stomach twisted even further at Alex’s fury. Had Alex ever truly trusted him, or had he tolerated Yassen’s presence as the better alternative of a shitty choice? Yassen had thought he could read Alex well, but he had never guessed at this terrible deep anger.

Nauseous, Yassen realised that if Alex asked him to leave, he would. Fully, no matter how it would cost his peace of mind, he’d leave Alex alone. Because Alex had proved over and over again in the months they had worked together that he was not a boy, that he was capable of making his own choice.

Because Yassen would not be another thing Alex learned to live with because he didn’t have a choice.

“I’m sorry.”

“Oh, fuck off.” Alex groused, shooting him an annoyed look.

“You’re not- You didn’t-” Alex stammered, before growling. Before Yassen could try to parse that, he stalked forward and flung himself at him, wrapping his arms around Yassen’s shoulders.

Alex’s tall frame slumped so he could press his face into Yassen’s neck with a shuddering breath. Yassen remained frozen for too many seconds. His arms felt awkward and out of place. Hesitantly, he brought up his hands to Alex’s back, one splaying wide between his shoulder blades, the other rubbing softly up and down his spine following a long-forgotten instinct. Alex shook with sobs he tried to suppress, but Yassen felt no wetness on his shoulder.

“Саша-”

“Shut up.”

Yassen sighed, but complied. Alex was warm against him, and seemed to have no inclination to move away, so as his breaths started to calm down, he allowed himself to sink into the embrace and find comfort in it. 

Only when he suspected Alex was starting to fall asleep against him did he move, gently untangling himself from Alex’s heavy limbs and navigating the both of them to the couch. His partner went with minimal grumbled protests, but as soon as Yassen had seated the both of them, he was curled around him again. Yassen couldn’t help but but find relief in the feeling of Alex pressing his face against the curve of his shoulder.

Tomorrow, they’d probably not mention this, and would be back to whatever their relationship was when Alex wasn’t drunk and upset. Maybe tomorrow, in a week, in a year, Alex would decide he did want Yassen to leave after all. But tonight he could indulge in the contact and the warmth.

Yassen lifted a hand, and pushed it through Alex’s thick hair, gently picking at a few knots. Alex sighed against his neck.

“I thought you’d be a dick.” Alex whispered.

“Most people would agree with that assessment.”

“You’re a bit, you know, sometimes. When things don’t go to plan. Or when I get hurt. But you listen to me.”

Alex shifted a bit so he could sprawl over Yassen even more.

“You listen to my plans, and you work with me. Even when you probably know better. And you trust me.”

That was a very low bar, Yassen didn’t say. Instead, he gently pushed Alex’s hair from his forehead.

“And you’re good on missions. Like _good_ good, it’s distracting sometimes. You’re smart, and you explain even when it bothers you. And you’re funny, when you think no one else will notice.” Alex’s voice was barely more than a whisper, faint and drowsy. Yet it seemed to breathe warmth into Yassen with every word against his neck.

“Go to sleep, Саша.”

Alex grumbled against his neck one last time. Yassen didn’t stop brushing his hair until the sun started peaking at the edge of his window.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> According to Wikipedia, "Саша" is the Russian spelling for "Sasha", a nickname for Alex. If that's wrong, please let me know!
> 
> I re-read the entire Alex Rider series to make sure I didn't get anything spectacularly wrong, like, you know, the fact that Alan Blunt retired in Scorpia Rising and wouldn't be Alex and Yassen's boss anymore. Which was too bad because Mrs Jones just isn't as hateable. 
> 
> It also made me think through Hunter and Cossack's relationship more than Anthony Horowitz apparently did, so if anyone's interested in my personal timeline for their partnership, and the thing I used as background for this fic, you can find it [ here ](https://grumpyslytherin.tumblr.com/post/638133365851160576/heres-my-headcanon-for-the-hunter-cossack)


	4. Chapter 4

“I don’t like this.” Alex grumbled, riffling through his notes noisily.

“What are we objecting to again? Is the car the wrong color for your carefully constructed cover?” 

“I don’t like sending you alone in a crime organisation of this size.”

“A burgeoning crime organization so desperate for operatives they are ready to interview two illustrious nobodies on little more than faith and a prayer.” Yassen reasoned, leaning back in his chair. Alex had been more ornery than usual these last few days, picking arguments on almost every aspect of their plans, especially if they came from MI6’s analysts.

“A “burgeoning” crime organization that’s trying to take over SCORPIA’s place.”

Many groups had tried to grow into the void left by SCORPIA’s destruction, and most had failed with little more than a whimper. This one, the Tyzeri Group, had apparently found more success if MI6 had decided to send in Alex, and Yassen, to investigate.

“Are you worried I’ll be seduced away from MI6 by Tyzeri’s superior pay and benefits?” Yassen asked, trying to wrestle down his amusement. Alex saw right through his efforts and rolled his eyes.

“You’d be seduced away from MI6 by a decent stick of gum and a crumpled five pound bill.” 

‘If Alex asked him’ was unsaid but not unknown. _Maybe_ someone else could convince him if they gave him Alan Blunt’s head on a silver platter and promised Alex could walk away and be safe for the rest of his life.

But probably not even then, Yassen admitted, as he watched Alex glare back down at the pile of papers, fingers tapping an uneven rhythm.

“Worried I’ll turn on _you_ , then?”

“Don’t be daft, if you were going to turn on me, you’d have done it when we got trapped in Bangui and had to survive on Kraft Dinner for 2 weeks.”

Yassen winced at the reminder of those miserable two weeks, but shifted to get a better look at his partner’s profile.

“Alex.” It was barely a question, but he still sighed, finally leaning back in his chair.

“I don’t like you going in alone. You haven’t worked for, or close to, one of these organizations since you left SCORPIA.”

“I’m not going to be tested for leadership, I’m being interviewed for an assassin position. Seeming well versed in the internal politics of a large criminal organization would probably be a point against me.”

“But what if-”

“Alex. I am perfectly capable of making sense of power relationships and criminal schemes, even if I don’t have your recent experience.”

And he’d probably fit better in with the people employed by those types of people. Alex, for all his prowess - and after almost a year of working alongside him, Yassen was very aware of how very adept his partner was - was still only 21 years old, and looked it.

“What if you don’t have the skills they are looking for anymore? It has been over two decades since your SCORPIA training.”

“Killing for one large organization is very much the same as killing for another. Regardless of if one of them is a government agency.”

“Still. Maybe I should go alone.”

“Out of the question.”

“Yassen…” Alex sighed.

“I’d rather be close at hand should you decide to take matters into your own hands and destroy Tyzeri from the inside.”

“What?” Alex jolted, glaring at Yassen.

“Given your previous experience with SCORPIA, one might consider that your restraint when it comes to someone trying to emulate them would be… limited.”

“Well, maybe _one_ should consider that after taking down _one_ international criminal group, I’d be more than happy to let MI6 provide the firepower this time.” Alex scoffed, crossing his arms. 

Yassen answered with a noncommittal hum, not looking away from him.

“I’m not a child that needs to be supervised, Yassen.”

“Neither am I.” 

Alex seemed taken aback by that, blinking for a few seconds before going limp, raking a hand through his hair.

“Fine. Fine! Whatever.”

His partner’s irritation, unusual though it was, shouldn’t have been surprising. This mission would not only be the first time they went undercover for an extended period of time since they started working together, but they would also need to be separated for most of it. Yassen wasn’t ashamed to admit, if only to himself, that the notion didn’t sit with him much better than it did with Alex. However, trying to infiltrate the Tyzeri as a duo of previously unknown, unaffiliated operatives would be a lot more suspicious than if they presented as two _distinct_ unknown, unaffiliated operatives. Being independent would also allow them to cover more ground faster. Still.

Still.

“Wanna bet Jones gave us this mission because _she’s_ hoping you’ll turn?” Alex grinned dryly. Yassen arched an eyebrow, pretending to think it over, despite the fact that he’d pondered over the question ever since they’d received the information package. Mrs. Jones, along with most of her staff, had yet to give up on trying to separate them, through increasingly unsubtle ways. Despite that, she was a practical woman, and this was obviously an operation she was concerned about. She wouldn’t risk Alex losing his partner mid-mission, not when he’d spent a year learning to trust someone else to watch his back.

“That depends, do we know if the Tyzeri have any good vodkas at their disposal?”

Alex gasped, pressing hands to his chest.

“Betrayed for a bottle of vodka! Stay here, I’ll go find some Grey Goose.” Alex made to get to his feet, and laughed when Yassen scoffed in disgust.

Silence stretched as Alex’s laughter faded. Yassen felt no urge to break it, content in observing his partner. The lines of his shoulders were less tense then they had been, but not fully relaxed, his warm eyes troubled. 

He sighed, and stood up, raking his hair again.

“Alex.” Yassen not-asked again, and the boy gave him a tight, but not insincere smile.

“It’s fine. I’m a big boy, I’m just not used to having people I give a shit around for these things.” He gestured vaguely at the papers, then squeezed Yassen’s shoulder as he walked to the kitchen. “You know, I think once we’re done with this bullshit, we’re due for a vacation. What’s your opinion on Costa Rica?”

Unexpected warmth shot from the back of Yassen’s neck and spread through his sternum. They already spent a large part of their meager downtime together, with Alex showing up unannounced at his apartment to watch football at least every other night, despite Yassen’s utter disinterest in the sport. And with Yassen inviting his partner to come along when he visited museums or attended the theater. And with the both of them training together almost daily, at first for the lack of anyone else that could keep up, now for the comfort of companionship.

But Alex wanting them to go on vacation together?

“Too humid. And dreadfully boring.” 

“Not all of us hid away in South America for decades, grumpy ass. Fine then. Morocco, maybe? You’ll fit right in with the locals.”

* * *

The building where Yassen was expected was a nice enough office tower in Munich, close to the older parts of the city, but far enough that tourists wouldn’t be interested. According to the intel Alex and he had gathered, this was at the very least the fourth location the Tyzeris had used to meet potential recruits. On top of Yassen, this office would see maybe a couple of others interviewed before the group moved to their next local, leaving this one clean and untraceable.

Between Yassen and Alex, scheduled for his own meeting in five days, there would probably be three offices set-up and discarded. Whoever were behind the Tyzeris, they had money. The Tyzeris themselves had been decently known arm traffickers before they had suddenly decided to expand their businesses a few years ago. They had been very well regarded as upper mid-range suppliers, and made good money for what they were. They had also given no indication that they had greater ambition, beyond maybe expending their hold on the weapon market.

MI6 suspected that someone else had decided to use them as a cover and convenient middle-men. Part of their assignment was gathering enough information for them to discover who that was. 

Yassen walked in, confident but not conspicuous. The office was impersonal, the whole floor empty and silent. There was only a table, in the middle of the room, where two people sat. One middle-aged woman, with dark hair and hazel eyes. The other was a younger man with dark skin, and a surprisingly well tailored suit. 

There were no chairs on Yassen’s side of the table. He walked up to it, and stood still, arms held behind his back.

“Name.” The question came from the man.

“Balakin.”

“You were the one responsible for the Sorento assassination.”

“Yes.”

The MI6 had carefully constructed a work history under the Balakin pseudonym. Some were his own jobs that he had done for them, some were from other agents, a few from other assassins that had never been claimed. Just enough to show he had skills and worked cleanly, not enough to make anyone suspicious that they’d never heard of him. 

“Who paid you?”

“My client.”

“Who were they?”

“They paid for my silence when they paid for my bullet.”

“Mister Balakin, we’re looking to buy your partnership for the foreseeable future. At a very competitive price.” The man edged carefully, not quite pushing.

“Yes. And if we stop working together, you’ll have bought my silence as well.”

The woman, impassive until then, tilted her head and nodded, and her associate smoothly transitioned to the next question.

“Your activity seems to have been mostly restricted to the Americas?”

“My first client had business with the cartels.”

“And the second one?”

“I was already in the region.”

“Any ties to South American governments?”

“None.”

“Any ties to any other governments?”

“No.”

“Family?”

“None that remember me.”

“Why do you seek to associate yourself with us?”  
  
“Cuts on having to find clients myself.”

“And the money?”

“It’s nice too.”

“Any preference in terms of assignments?”

“My skills are in assassination.”

The man couldn’t quite contain his smile. Obviously he was buying Balakin as a completely detached, incurious, competent assassin. Good, they wouldn’t watch him as closely then.

“Of course. I was referring more in terms of geographical location, or types of target.”

“Don’t really care. Snow might be nice.”

The interview went smoothly, and Yassen was handed a contract to sign before he left the building. It was the same they’d sent him when they had first approached him about the “partnership”, but Yassen still made a point of reading through the entire thing. It wouldn’t do for an assassin to appear careless. 

He was given another meeting for the next day at a location about an hour out of Zurich. That night he went back to his hotel room, and sent a coded message to Alex with the address. His partner answered immediately, asking how the interview went, and what kind of questions he should expect. Of course, they’d change the exact subjects to fit their prospective operatives’ resume, but Alex, who hadn’t really needed an introduction since he was fourteen, still wanted to be prepared. Alex Rider had never really had to sell himself as a spy. Either he flew under the radar, or everyone in the room knew who he was.

The phone was supposed to be untraceable, but Yassen would get rid of it as before he left for the rendez-vous. The Tyzeris would supply him with a new one, and would be rightfully suspicious if he tried to bring in one they hadn’t vetted. This would be the last real contact he’d have with Alex until the end of the operation. 

His partner seemed as uneasy about that as he was, and determined to stretch the conversation. Yassen indulged the both of them, reading every message Alex sent, answering enough to reassure him that he was still present. Until Alex stopped messaging mid-story about the pigeons in downtown Munich. Yassen could easily imagine him, asleep with his phone on top of his face.

The hotel room was very silent around him. 

* * *

The compound Yassen found was a large system of smaller buildings, hidden deep in a forest to the south-east of Munich. The individual buildings were organized more or less in a circle around a central open area. Around those buildings was an empty strip of land of about 50 meters, then a high fence that surrounded the whole thing. Just at a quick glance, Yassen could tell it was solid, alarmed, electrified, and probably contained some measure of explosives in the anchors. There was only one gate to get in or out of the site, guarded on either side by booths of concrete and reinforced bulletproof glass.

This isolated from civilization, the Tyzeris had been able to afford to build themselves something approaching a fortified base of operation. Not quite a fortress, not yet, but enough to deter people looking for trouble. People like Yassen and Alex.   
  
Once his rental car had been thoroughly sweeped, Yassen was waved inside, and greeted at the entrance of the “main” building by the same man that had conducted his interview. He was wearing a different suit, but one just as fine as the first. 

“Balakin.” He greeted Yassen, extending his arm for a handshake. 

“Sir.” Yassen answered flatly, returning the handshake.

“Timothy, please. Come with me, I’ll show you to your rooms.”

According to his contract, Balakin would be expected to use the accommodations offered to him in between missions. Yassen wondered exactly how much free time the operatives would have.

His rooms were in one of the farthest buildings. He had his own decently sized bedroom and bathroom, but would share a living room with three other operatives. Meals would be served in the mess hall. Maybe Alex would be assigned to the same barrack as him, but he dismissed the thought. They were supposed to be collecting information, and lowering the number of people they had regular, close contact with from six to two would be a waste. 

Timothy gave Yassen the time to drop his bags in his room, before he swept him outside again. They would be searched thoroughly before Yassen got back to his room, but that was expected. The only thing of note in the bag was a catalogue of the newest weapons on the market. Balakin was a very boring man.

“Mister Tyzeri would like to welcome you in person.” Timothy offered as they walked towards the only building that wasn’t in the outer ring with the others, but rather inside of it, overlooking the main field. If it was the main office for the Tyzeris, it made sense to give it that additional security. 

The inside was modern and tasteful with decorations that reminded Yassen of the south of France. Inviting, not boring, but not distinct either. There were armchairs arranged around two small cafe tables, and bookshelves against the walls. 

The illusion of comfort.

The various objects and decorations also made it easier to hide cameras. Yassen could only spot two of them this quickly, but from their placement, he could guess at three others.

Timothy opened the one door in the opposite wall, and waved Yassen in. The main office was similar to the previous room. Behind the large wooden desk sat the same woman that had been present at Yassen’s interrogation, and an older man, with short grey hair and a sallow skin tone.

“Balakin! Please come in.” His voice was rough. Yassen couldn’t quite place his accent, but according to MI6’s file, Kozma Tyzeri was born in Greece. 

“Sir.” 

Yassen walked to stand in front of the desk, hands folded behind him like during the interview. Tyzeri gave him a critical once over, and seemed satisfied enough, nodding in appreciation to the woman.

“You’ve met my wife, Eugenia, of course.” He paused, as if expecting an answer, but Yassen simply nodded sharply, despite not having known the woman’s name. There had been no mention of Tyzeri being married in his file. The man hadn’t had any known romantic relationships in the almost thirty years he’d been in business. “And I’m Kozma Tyzeri.”

Yassen nodded again. If Kozma introduced himself personally to all his new operatives, it seemed to confirm that someone else was in charge, puppetting from the shadows. The Tyzeris made themselves the face of the operation, and people would be less likely to dig for other partners.

“Not the talkative sort, are you?” Tyzeri asked, already waving appeasingly at his wife. “I know darling, you did tell me, but one should always make an opinion for themselves.”

Calmly, he approached Yassen, but remained casually out of arm’s reach.

“Welcome to our small operation, Balakin. I’m sure we’ll have a very productive partnership.”

“Yes sir.”

“Go, get settled, enjoy the forest air. We’ll have work for you soon enough.”

Yassen nodded sharply one last time and turned around, barely waiting for Timothy to open the door before walking out. One more discreet look at the room confirmed what he’d previously noted. There seemed to be only one camera, angled carefully to look at the entry door and the singular window, leaving the rest of the room uncovered. In a compound probably only staffed by criminals of various standings, someone still wanted to be sure what went on in this room wasn’t recorded.

* * *

The next few days were uneventful. Yassen met his barrack mates, two men and a woman. Python had been a US Marine before a dishonorable discharge he was still upset about, and was a good demolition man. Stevens was as unremarkable in looks as Balakin was in personality, but he had been behind some of the most successful cyberattacks against large corporations in the last few years. Lara didn’t have any previous experience she would speak of, but she was tall and broad shouldered, and she wiped the floor with anyone that would sparr with her. The rest of the recruits learned quickly to stop asking her questions.

Under the guise of keeping up with training, Yassen spent some time at the gun range set-up on one side of the perimeter, and even sparred with some of the operatives. He made sure to downplay his abilities to keep Balakin’s cover of a competent but unremarkable assassin in place. 

Balakin’s taciturn attitude meant he wasn’t exactly suited for asking questions, but excellent at being in the vicinity of other people when they talked amongst themselves. Just by being around, seemingly uninterested and unthreatening to anyone’s standing, he’d heard Python lie about his past to at least three different people, and had a pretty good mental map of everyone’s qualifications, and how they’d been contacted by the Tyzeris.

Whoever was behind the Tyzeri operation, they had been very careful to pick a wide array of expertises. No one at the top of the food chain in any of those fields, but good enough to be interesting for clients that couldn’t afford the best of the best. The convenience of all of them being gathered under the same umbrella might make up for the quality of the service for the right buyers as well.

Every night, between 7 and 8, the thin, easy to conceal bracelet snug around Yassen’s ankle would warm up as it received Alex’s check in. Every morning, between 5 and 6, Yassen was expected to use the same bracelet to send Alex a sign back. Smithers had guaranteed them that the transmitters in those bracelets couldn’t be detected by any tech currently on the market, and so far that had seemed to hold up. 

On Yassen’s fourth day on the base, the day Alex was due to meet the recruiters - who weren’t always Timothy and Eugenia Tyzeri- he received two pings on his bracelet. They’d hired Alex as well.

Timothy had found Yassen earlier in the day to tell him they were meeting a client the next day, which meant he wouldn’t be on base when his partner would arrive. It also meant he would likely be off on a mission while Alex settled in. Hopefully, they’d cross each other in the near future, long enough to trade information. 

* * *

Alex missed his check-in the next day. With their meeting over four hours away, Yassen was still driving back with Timothy as eight o’clock came and went, and didn’t feel his transmitter warm up. There was a twinge of worry, but he quickly snuffed it. Alex was supposed to arrive today, and with his much more outgoing persona, he was probably hard at work making friends. Balakin could learn information by being easy to overlook, William Darling would charm it out. Alex had simply not found the opportunity to slip away from the crowd to poke Yassen.

When they arrived back at the base, Yassen saw that the lights were still on in the mess hall, and he walked back to his barrack. Better to leave Alex to his work. 

The talks with the client had gone well, and Balakin was slated to be sent on the assignment in four days. Timothy and the rest of the “analysts” of the Tyzeris -who Yassen had yet to meet- would take the time to set up the details for him. Means of travel, shelter, even probably a few suggestions of how to carry out the assassination. After so long being left almost completely to his own devices by Alan Blunt and Mrs Jones, going back to Scorpia levels of micromanagement was unnerving. 

The next day, Yassen was pulled into a hours-long meeting with Timothy and one of the analysts about their assessment of the situation. Most of it could have been told through a folder handed to him, but maybe they wanted to watch and evaluate him. Timothy had to leave part way through, and didn’t return. The other woman, young, with curly dark hair, was clearly unsettled at being left alone with an assassin, but was competent enough. Timothy didn’t return.

Yassen didn’t leave the meeting room until late enough in the evening that the rest of the employees had already eaten their dinner, and was alone in the mess hall. On the way, he saw the expensive car he’d learnt belonged to the Tyzeris. That’d explain Timothy’s quick retreat. The man was in charge of the operation until he was expected to play butler to Mr. and Mrs. Tyzeri. 

Taking his time to nibble his way through his meal, Yassen furtively watched the time. Balakin wasn’t known to leave his room once he “turned in” for the night. Best to wait out the clock in the open.

Alex missed his check-in again.

“--ther breaches in the recruitment process.” The doors of the mess hall opened behind him, and he heard the end of Timothy’s sentence. For the sake of appearances, Yassen turned just long enough to see Timothy, and another man he wasn’t familiar with.

With one bland nod, he went back to chewing listlessly his dry piece of cake. The two other men, who had dismissed him just as readily as he had them, moved to the coffee machine.

“I don’t think we need to panic yet. The kid is known for working on his own.”

Yassen felt his blood turn sharp and icy. His senses seemed to sharpen in an instant as he stared at the table in front of him.

“The _kid_ still managed to slip through our entire vetting process. It’s pure dumb luck you were there to recognize him. There could be others.”

_Alex._

Who was the other man? Alex, Yassen, and MI6, had spent a significant portion of their preparation making sure that no previous acquaintances of Alex were involved with the Tyzeris.

Chancing another quick look, Yassen noted the older face, the lax posture and the unalert eyes. Not a field agent, he’d wager, unless he was an _exceptionally_ good actor. An analyst or an office worker of some kind. If he’d been working with high enough people in SCORPIA, he might have been the kind of people privy to information about Alex.

Maybe enough to have seen him before.

“If there are, he probably doesn’t know about them.” The man said again. They didn’t even bother lowering their voices. Someone tried to infiltrate their operation the day before, and they didn’t even consider that Balakin might be another.

Amateurs.

“Probably not.”

“Is there a point in continuing the interrogation? The longer we keep him on base, the longer he has to figure a way out.”

“The boy can still be a goldmine of information on MI6. And there’s no twenty years old that can resist once they’ve got a knife pointed at their dick.” 

They were torturing Alex. Alex, who’d had torture resistance training even _before_ he got to Malagosto. 

Yassen knew exactly how much damage they could cause his partner before realising Alex wouldn’t break.

His mind seemed to slowly focus, as if he was adjusting the scope of his rifle. First objective would be to extract Alex. His cover was fully blown, and the odds of Yassen retrieving enough information under Balakin’s cover to be useful were almost non-existent. Second objective, destroy the operation. Getting Alex out meant very little if they left behind a growing criminal enterprise with a grudge. The Tyzeris would see Alex, and Yassen, as threats to their reputations, and Yassen wouldn’t ever have as good a chance to take them down.

That meant MI6 might not be able to get at whoever was pulling the strings in the dark, but hopefully it’d delay them long enough to figure something else out. Yassen couldn’t find himself much caring.

Calmy, he stood up, grabbing his tray to bring it back to the dishes disposal, which conveniently would draw him close to the two men. He took out his hidden belt knife, and held it flat against the bottom of the tray. As he passed, he flipped the knife and struck, stabbing the nameless man under the jaw, cutting his aorta and his wind pipes at the same time. By the time he fell to the ground, unable to make a sound as he choked on his own blood, Yassen had Timothy pinned against the counter, the bloody blade pressed against his own neck.

“Balakin! What-”

Yassen pressed the blade tighter, just a hair away from drawing blood. Eyes wide with sudden terror, the man wisely shut up.

“Where is he.”

“Who.”

“The boy. Where is he.”

“Rider? If you wanted to be the one to kill him, you should have said, we’d have left you the honor! No need to kill Falks over-” Given the blessing, Timothy babbled, hands fluttered to either side of him. One pull of the knife was enough to stop him.

“Where is he.”

“In the medical building. There’s a basement, with an interrogation room and a few cells. That’s where he is! If you let me, I’ll bring you and tell the team to let-”

Yassen took a step back and with a quick flash of the knife, sliced deeply into Timothy’s neck. He patted the man down until he found the card he used to open all the door on the base.

Weapons weren’t permitted on base, but the ones of the range were simply kept in a padlocked locker. Sticking to the shadows between buildings, Yassen quickly reached the range and grabbed a couple of pistols and additional munitions. He wouldn’t have minded a few grenades, but it wasn’t the kind of things kept at a range. He left the sniper rifle too. Once the alarm was sounded, he wouldn’t be able to stay still enough to make much use of it. He’d have to get close and be fast.

Next target was the Tyzeri’s main office building. Now that Timothy was gone, they were the most likely to create trouble in the future. Alex would probably not be in a condition to deal with them once Yassen got him out, so they had to be the first step. Yassen only hoped they were far enough from the medical building that he could maintain the element of surprise. 

The door of the building was locked, but Yassen could see light in the office window. Ears straining for unexpected movements, he swiped Timothy’s card in the door. The waiting room was empty, but the camera couldn’t fail to pick up on him. Nothing to be done about that now. Yassen strode to the door leading to the office and keeping to the side, out of sight, he pushed it open.

No shots came, and Yassen walked in, gun first. The Tyzeris gaped at him, both standing behind the large desk.

“Balakin, what a-”

Bang. Bang.

Yassen barely looked at the two newly dead bodies, striding to the computer. It was still unlocked, thankfully. Rolling the right cuff of his trousers, Yassen peeled back the fake mess of scarring tissue on his calf and took out the USB pen. There were no signs of an alarm, but that didn’t mean security hadn’t alerted anyone. If they were smart, they’d try to send discreet people to intercept him as he left the building.

When the information finished downloading, he stuck the pen back against his calf. 

A crunch of gravel outside the window. 

It had started.

Yassen crouched behind the desk. He had been careful not to stand in the visual field of the one camera when he killed the Tyzeris, which meant that Security had no idea what the situation was.

Seconds ticked by, until the glass exploded inward. At the same time, the office door slammed open, and multiple hurried footsteps broke the silence. 

They paused when they couldn’t find Yassen, and he took the opportunity to duck around the corner.

Bang Bang.

Two more bodies dropped to the floor. A third person yelled and threw themselves at him. He caught them by the shoulder, and flipped them over his head, using the confusion to shoot the fourth in the forehead, before turning back to the man he’d just thrown on the ground to finish him with one last bullet.

Silence. Yassen recognized the four bodies as some of the operatives that had been on base the longest. Most of the security personnel was probably busy watching over Alex.

Once more Yassen was thankful for the camera placement in the office, which meant that anyone observing wouldn’t know how the fight had gone. He couldn’t stay there however. If a large enough group came for him, he’d be pinned. Grabbing Tyzeri’s car keys off the desk, he shot the camera and jumped through the window. Creeping along to the walls of the closest building, he watched as three more shapes converged on the office building.

By his count, there had been eleven operatives excluding himself on the premises. Except for security, there were only a couple of cooks and a maintenance worker that remained as staff on the premises. If they were smart, they’d stay indoors until the shooting stopped. With the four he’d already killed, he was down to 7 hostiles plus security. 

When one of the shapes turned the corner, he grabbed them around the neck, dragging them in the shadows.

Python, for all his boasting, was a strong man. Yassen snapped his neck like a twig.

Stalking silently to the other side of the office building, Stevens sounded almost surprised when he turned the corner. Yassen had just enough time to shoot him down before Lara appeared, charging at him. 

Bang.

Had they thought that Yassen would hesitate if they sent people he was familiar with? Then again, they had no way of knowing the length at which he would go to rip Alex free from their grasp.

Alex.

He had to hurry, now that the entire compound was on alert. Whoever was watching over Alex might decide to try and use him as leverage, or worse to get rid of him, with another security breach to contain. He left the cover of shadows and sprinted across the field. Balakin was the sniper of the Tyzeris’ arsenal. The others would come at him from the ground. Movement on his left. A bullet whizzed by his head as he twisted around

Bang. Shot through the thigh. They stumbled to the ground. Bang. Shot through the head.

A footstep behind him. He whirled around.

Bang. They fell and didn’t move.

Nine down. Two left. Approaching the door to the medical building, Yassen pulled out his knife again, keeping his gun in his right hand. He kicked the door open, pressing himself back against the wall as bullets flew through the opening. Right behind the bullet came a hand, grabbing his shoulder. Yassen let himself be pulled, then twisted in the grasp at the last moment, stabbing the other in the armpit, then jabbing at the hinge of his jaw. Ducking, he pushed the trashing body at the last operative, who caught it instinctively, face covered in warm blood.

Bang.

Yassen paused. He’d been in the building before, for a superficial check up, but he hadn’t been down to the basement. The cameras were obvious, and there wasn’t anything to be done about them now. Whoever was watching him had just run out of grunts to throw at him anyway.

Careful not to make a sound as he went down the stairs, Yassen peeked out from behind the corner as he reached the basement. 

“Drop your weapons or he dies.” 

There were four security guards in the room. One of them was holding a gun to Alex’s head, the other three were aiming at Yassen. His partner was still strapped to the interrogation table, covered with enough blood for a spike of concern to pierce Yassen’s icy focus. His eyes, however, were still alert, and relieved.

“Drop your weapon!” The guard aiming at Alex bellowed again. Alex being immobilized meant he couldn’t help Yassen even if the immediate threat was removed, but it also meant the guard wasn’t really paying attention to him.

That would cost him one fraction of a second too long. Yassen lunged from the corner, putting a bullet between the man’s eyebrows, before rolling behind the bench as the three others opened fire. One of their bullets grazed his hip, but it barely registered.

Shuffling feet. Yassen peeked from the other end of the bench.

Bang.

Two left.

They split on either side of the bench, trying to pinch him. Yassen ducked to the left, sweeping the legs of the guard. 

Bang. 

Blood sprayed the floor. Curses directly on the other side of the bench. Yassen sprung to his feet.

Bang.

The body crumpled down, and Yassen noted distantly that part of the blood and brain matter had sprayed over Alex. Yassen tucked his warm gun in his pants, and started untying his partner.

“Can you walk?”

There was no answer, and Yassen looked up, frowning. Alex’s eyes were wide, and he was pale under the blood. He was in shock. What had those people done to him? 

“Alex?”

“Yeah.” His voice was rough and faint, and he was following Yassen’s every gesture with his eyes.

“Good. Come.”

He helped Alex to his feet, and took the lead back up the stairs. Alex tried to grab his shirt as he moved to the main door.

“Yassen, the others-”

“I took care of them.” Yassen answered shortly. He wanted Alex to be safely out of anyone’s reach, and he wanted it fifteen minutes ago. Being separated had been a mistake.

“What? What do-”

Yassen walked out, indicating to Alex to stay close to his six. 

“Stop!” 

The Head of Security was running towards them with a large rifle. 

Bang.

Alex gave a strangled shout. Yassen took off at a jog towards Tyzeri’s car. If the Head of Security himself came out, there were most likely no one else left, but he was not a gambling man. When he reached the door, he turned to find his partner still frozen in the middle of the open area, staring down at the still body.

“Alex!” 

He startled, turning to stare at Yassen. WIth a growl of frustration, Yassen moved to go grab him, but Alex jerked again, stumbling towards the car. 

Worry spiked again. Had he underestimated the damage done to Alex?

The car rumbled smoothly to life, and they drove out of the gates that had been programmed to open for Mr. Tyzeri. 

Before being contacted by the Tyzeris, they had set-up a number of safe houses around the Munich perimeter, to make sure they had an easy pied-a-terre wherever the compound actually was. The closest was forty minutes away. 

Yassen made it in 23.

It was an old farmhouse, unoccupied for years, but it still had running water, and they had taken the time to plug and conceal a small generator.

After parking the car out of sight, Yassen did a quick sweep of the houses, letting Alex get in at his own pace.

He had time to start laying out the first aid kit when Alex appeared in the doorway.

“You need to go take a shower before I take a look at your injuries.” He called out to his partner without looking up.

Alex shuffled to the counter, five feet away from Yassen, and stopped.

“Alex.” Yassen prodded, gesturing in the direction of the bathroom.

“How many did you kill.”

Alex’s voice was flat and hoarse. Yassen stopped and looked up at him. 

“Pardon?”

“How many people did you kill.”

Yassen hesitated in the face of Alex’s uncharacteristically blank expression.

“Seventeen.”

Alex took a step back, fist clenching.

“Go.”

“Alex?”

“Leave. Now.”

Yassen felt a spike of ice shoot down his spine.

“Alex?”

“You killed seventeen people that you could have easily incapacitated! You ruined the operation, putting countless people in danger! What the bloody hell, Yassen!” Alex exploded, taking several more steps away from him.

“You were captured, and they were torturing you.”

“Yeah! Shit fucking happens! Except now seventeen people are dead!” He started rubbing frantically at his face with his already bloodsoaked shirt.

“Саша.” Yassen tried to get closer, but Alex almost tripped in his haste to get away.

“Stop.” He froze.

“They weren’t good people, Alex.”

“What the bloody hell does that make you, then?” 

The spike exploded in a million tiny shards of ice that ripped through his chest.

“You’ve always known what I do.”

“No. Not- Not like this.”

“Alex-”

“This wasn’t an assassination, Yassen. This was a slaughter. I can’t. I can’t work with that. I can’t work with _you_ if this is what’s going to happen every time I get in too much danger for your taste.” His voice was poison and disgust, with what he’d done. With what he’d done _for Alex._

With him?

He ached to reach forward and grab Alex, to shake him, to make him change his mind. But his fingertips were numb.

But he couldn’t move. 

But he was powerless to move away from the headlights coming for him.

“Leave Yassen.” Alex’s voice was unyielding. “You’ve paid whatever blood debt you owed my father. Now fuck off.”

His eyes were hard. 

Yassen could refuse. He could simply settle down in the farmhouse as they had planned. Maybe he could even change Alex’s mind, wear him down over time until he relented and saw reason.

Yassen could wait until Alex calmed down, and explain his reasoning. Alex had always shown a remarkable ability to understand him. Maybe he could convince Alex that those seventeen deaths were justified.

Alex’s eyes were hard. Because of Yassen.

And Alex wanted him to leave. Alex had asked him to leave.

Yassen had known, late at night, months ago in London, that he wouldn’t be something Alex endured. That he would respect Alex’s decision and leave if he ever asked.

He should have known it would come out of this, Alex horrified at violence Yassen barely even registered. Alex horrified at who Yassen was, when he grew complacent and showed too much of himself. 

He hadn’t known it would feel like a hand was crushing his windpipe, blocking his air and making him lightheaded.

Still, Alex wanted him to leave. 

Still, he looked through Yassen like he couldn’t recognize him.

Still. 

Yassen reached down, and removed the USB pen from his leg, reaching out to offer it to Alex.

Alex didn’t move.

Yassen dropped the pen on the counter, the small clink echoing endlessly in the stillness.

Alex didn’t turn to watch him as he left the farmhouse.


	5. Chapter 5

> _From: Royal And General Human Resources_
> 
> _To: Jason Gregory_ _  
> __Subject: Congratulations on your retirement!_
> 
> _Dear Mr. Gregory,_
> 
> _On behalf of everyone here at Royal And General congratulations on your retirement!_
> 
> _Your service with us was noted, especially your commitment to transferring your vast experience to the younger generation. I’m sure they’ll join us in wishing you the best in your future endeavours, wherever they might take you._
> 
> _We will make sure your personal effects are sent to you in a timely manner, so you can enjoy your well earned rest. Should you need the assistance, we’d be happy to help you settle down, anywhere in the world._
> 
> _Kind regards,_
> 
> _John Crawley._

* * *

Yassen kneaded the dough for his pelmenis on his kitchen’s counter, Mussorgsky’s music playing softly in the background. Push, roll, push, roll. Balling the dough and putting it to the side to rest, and walked to the sink, cleaning his hands. 

Late afternoon sun was streaking through the windows of the living room, spilling into the kitchen and the hallway leading to the bedrooms, crystalline and cold like only winter light could truly be. The large windows had been an indulgence, the strategic weakness counterbalanced by the thick forest surrounding the house. Most snipers would find a good line of sight almost impossible, and would undoubtedly trip one of the many sensors and cameras Yassen had installed around the intimidating trees.

An indulgence, but a calculated one. Far more sensible than others, like the second bedroom Yassen had made sure was furnished and kept clean. Foolish effort for a foolish hope. 

Yassen sighed as the familiar gnawing emptiness seeped in at the thought of Alex. There wasn’t anything to be done, and he was a practical man. A practical retired man, who’d never meet Alex again if MI6 had their way. 

Alex wanted nothing to do with him anyway. Some days, Yassen could keep himself busy enough that that notion never made it past a background buzz. Others, it would drive him to distraction, and nothing short of working himself out into exhaustion could quiet his thoughts. On the worst days, the realisation that Alex was back at MI6’s mercies without backup would hit him so hard that remaining in Saint-Petersbourg was almost physically impossible.

Alex had made a choice, and Yassen would respect it. 

Yassen would respect it. 

Yassen _would_ remain away.

Nevermind that no one would tell him if Alex died. Nevermind that this house, once all he’d ever wanted, was quiet like a graveyard in winter. Nevermind that Yassen was so _cold_ all the time.

A year and two months ago, Yassen Gregorovich had given up his lifeplans because John Rider’s son might need him. 

Now, he was left trying to trace back the retirement he’d once wished for because Alex Rider had needed him out of his life.

Only a year. Only a year, and yet he missed Alex’s snark and his broad grins like a cut off limb. 

Only a year, and he’d never have Alex’s arm around his shoulders, or his feet in his lap, or his warm hand on his back.

With a scoff at his own sentimentality, Yassen grabbed the pelmeni dough and set to work on rolling it out.

How many times would he flip his life inside out for the sake of a Rider? 

Perhaps it was a good thing he’d never properly met Ian. 

Yassen turned up the volume of the music and started working on describing his kitchen in Hindi: the spotless appliances, the sketchbooks left on the dining table, the bland walls. The rote motions of assembling the pelmenis and the mental exercise did their job, and he felt himself centered again by the time he plated half the dumplings for his dinner.

Ding.

He froze. His cellphone, which he kept around mostly to keep tabs on his security system, hadn’t received an e-mail in two months, since MI6 sent him the smuggest ‘Congratulations on the Retirement’ electronic card Yassen could imagine. 

In fact, there were only four people in the world who knew his address. None of whom had any desire to contact him. Putting his plate delicately on the counter, he picked up the phone, swiping to open the email application.

The message sender was blank, and the email itself only had one line.

“I brought white wine. Hope that’s fine.”

Breathe In. Breath out.

Knock. Knock.

Yassen’s eyes flashed to the door. There hadn’t been any alarms tripped, no signs of approach, no sound. 

Almost on auto-pilot, he switched his phone to the front door camera feed. 

Alex was already looking up at the lense, and shook the bottle of wine, as if trying to bribe his way in. Yassen stalked to the front door, taking a long breath before calmly opening it. 

Alex was wearing a thick dark blue winter coat, zipped to his chin to shield against the cold. Yassen couldn’t help but inspect him, searching for any signs of distress or injuries. Maybe Alex had been compromised on a mission, and Yassen was his best option to lay low. Maybe MI6 had need of him again, and forced Alex to play carrier pigeon. Maybe he just wanted to make sure Yassen intended to stay away like he had asked.

“Nice house you got. Hard to track down.” Alex seemed healthy, if tired, and relaxed. 

“Alex.”

“Going to let me in?”

Yassen hesitated for a second, wrong footed, long enough for Alex to catch it, and he smiled wryly, shaking the wine again. It was a good bottle, Yassen recognized. It would go well with the pelmenis. 

He stepped out of the way. Alex entered the house, immediately unzipping his coat and dropping it on the back of the couch. 

“I thought Russia was too expected for you.”

“I’m retired.”

As far as most people of import were concerned, Yassen Gregorovich had died shortly after his mentor. He had made a career of never leaving traces anyone could follow. No one was looking for Yassen Gregorovich.

No one, it seemed, except for Alex Rider.

“So I heard.” Alex’s voice was muted and tight.

Silence. Alex looked back at him. For all that he projected calm and openness, Yassen found himself incapable of reading him. 

“Food’s getting cold.” Alex spoke first, turning away to drop his bottle of wine in the kitchen. 

He opened a few drawers in the kitchen, rummaging.

“Third on the left.” Yassen called out, and Alex hummed in thanks when he found the corkscrew.

Walking slowly to the table, he took out a second plate, and spooned the remaining half of the pelmenis. Alex’s eyes flashed to him again as he opened the wine, smiling fleetingly. As Yassen slid the second plate in front of him, he poured them both glasses of wine. 

“Are you going to ask me why I’m here?”

“Did MI6 send you?”

“Oh yeah. You finally stop following me around like a lost puppy, and they just decided to send me back.” Alex snorted, stabbing one of the dumplings.

As soon as he stuffed the poor pelmeni in his mouth, he leaned back, groaning appreciatively. Yassen viciously pushed back the wave of affection. This wouldn’t be an indulgence he would survive unscathed.

“Ah. I see. It was about the food all along.”

“Fuck yeah. Do you deliver?” 

“I’m afraid the commute to London might ruin their texture.”

“Shame you live so far then.”

Yassen’s eyes narrowed, and he tried to pin Alex, tried to extract answers without asking, without leaving what little cover he had left.

Alex ignored him, chewing on another dumpling with gusto. 

“Alex.” Yassen tried again.

Alex turned to him again, taking a sip of his wine.

“Are you going to ask me why I’m here, Yassen?”

Alex Rider was a vicious man, when in the right mood.

“Why are you here, Alex.”

“Because you left.” 

Silence. Alex’s voice was tight, and he put down his glass with deliberate movements.

“You told me to.”

“I also regularly told you to get me some McDonalds. I didn’t think you would!”

“You finding my presence undesirable is rather more important than fast food.”

“That’s not-”

“You wanted me to leave, Alex, so I did.”

“You don’t know what I want.” Alex snapped, hands clenching.

“I work under the assumption that you are old and wise enough to know better to ask the opposite of what you want.”

“I was in _shock,_ I couldn’t-”

Alex stopped himself, downing the rest of his wine glass in one go. 

“I think that we’ve both been working under too many assumptions.” Alex whispered. “Bloody spies, can’t talk straight to save their own bloody lives.”

Yassen waited, forcing himself to eat one of the dumplings, even if he could barely taste it.

“Don’t volunteer too fast.” Alex groused, filling his glass again. “ _I_ was under the impression that this partnership was something we wanted to last. I _thought_ you’d reappear after a few days, we’d either talk about what happened, or we’d pretend everything was normal. And life would go on.

“Don’t get me wrong, it’s not like we ever talked about it, but, I -again, might have been assuming things- thought you were happy enough working with me.”

He stopped, looking expectantly at Yassen.

“Alex, this isn’t about me.”

“Nope. Wrong. This whole thing is, by design, at least 50% about you.”

“What I want is irrelevant if you are-” Yassen hesitated on the words he wanted, and wished Alex’s Russian was stronger. “Unsettled by me.”

“ _Unsettled_ by you? Yassen, I’m not a big fan of what you _did,_ and we’ll definitely have to talk about that, but that’s not who you _are_.”

“I am an assassin, Alex.”

“Sure. And sometimes people need to die. Better you do it cleanly, than me half-assed. We’ll just make sure that next time, you don’t jump directly to mass murder when someone gets lucky enough to catch me.”

Yassen felt all emotion leak from his face. Alex popped another pelmeni in his mouth, never looking away.

“Next time.” He edged, carefully.

“Yep.”

Yassen stared back at him.

“That’s the thing Yassen. These last two months, I realised that you might be thinking that this, _us,_ was something you decided and that I was just… going along with. Which is a load of bullshit.” Alex leaned forward, eyes blazing. “You offered to be my partner. I chose you to be _mine._ ” 

Alex’s lips curled into a sharp grin, raw and _possessive._ Warmth and longing bloomed from Yassen’s fingers, curling alongside the veins on the inside of his arms. It clawed at the craving in his chest he felt echo and resonate in the curve of Alex’s mouth, the lines of his brow.

Ah. This was… unexpected.

“This is not something to be overlooked.”

“Of course not. That’s why I’m here, instead of just asking you to come back to London to do your bloody job.”

“Killing those people was part of my job.”

“No it wasn’t. It was pretty much the _opposite_ of what you were supposed to do. You’re lucky the MI6 got enough off of your USB pen, because Jones was pissed.”

“Covering you-”  
  
“Is not actually part of your job definition. That’s all you. And most of the time, I’m all for it. But this time, you went somewhat overboard.”

“They were harming you.”

“They were amateurs. All of them. I got worse interrogations when I was _fourteen._ And you could have subdued everyone on that facility with one hand tied behind your back.”

Yassen didn’t bother pointing out that it would have taken significantly more time, time that he hadn’t been willing to waste when Alex was being tortured. That Yassen had weighted 17 bodies against Alex’s suffering and found them barely more than an inconvenience.

That Yassen didn’t know when someone would get tired of Alex not giving them what they wanted and disposing of him. 

That the idea of Alex’s dead body made any collateral damage irrelevant.

Alex would never be capable of that kind of calculation, and Yassen couldn’t help but find relief in that.

But Alex understood Yassen, better than anyone since his parents died, understood him even better now that he had seen him backed into a corner.

Alex knew what Yassen had been thinking that night. Yet here he was.

He tilted his head and considered Yassen, a smile slowly curling the edge of his lips. It looked enough like gentleness to set Yassen on edge.

“If I asked, would you swear to never again kill someone simply because they got between the two of us?”

“You seem sure that I would.”  
  
“Alan Blunt still has his head.”

Silence. 

Breathe in. Breathe out.

“Yes.”

He braced himself for the demand. Braced for Alex to demand of Yassen that he allow others to hurt him in the future. To demand that he weighed the balance of his moral mathematics against him and his welfare, if only slightly more. Alex considered him for a long minute.

“You will promise me that you will consider all possible options. You will promise me that if possible, you will choose the non-lethal options. And you will promise me you will do your best to prepare against these kinds of situations, to avoid the same thing happening again.”

“I won’t let anyone threaten your life.”

“I’m not asking you to.” Alex’s eyes never wavered from his. Unyielding. Merciless.

Warm.

“I will.” 

“Promise me.”

“I promise.” For Alex’s peace of mind. So that Alex didn’t feel like he had any more blood on his hands than he had been forced to spill himself. 

So that Alex felt at ease with him again.

His partner - _his partner-_ leaned back with a satisfied nod, shovelling more dumplings in his mouth. Yassen still had barely touched his own plate.

“Alex. Are you sure?”

“I thought you ‘assumed I was old enough not to ask for something I didn’t want’? Anyway, you still owe me a vacation in Morocco. MI6 has been running me ragged.”

Yassen couldn’t help but huff with a smile. Alex answered him in kind, leaning on his elbow, to casually swirl the wine in his glass.

“What about you, Yassen. What do you want?” 

Soft words. Soft yet terrible, and Alex’s warm eyes would not let him keep his silence. 

_I want to be warm._

“I’d rather you stopped throwing yourself at megalomaniacs with guns.”

“Might be a bit complicated in our line of work.”

“I would settle for you to stop antagonising them.” 

Alex snorted, crossing his arms.

“Seriously, though. This isn’t only about me. If you want to just... enjoy your _retirement_ , then I’ll leave. No fuss.” 

Yassen frowned, but Alex stopped him with a finger.

“And if you try to come back because you feel like you have to, or god forbid because of my father, I’ll kick you back to Siberia myself.”

“Saint-Petersburg isn’t in Siberia.”

“Could have fooled me.”

They stared at each other. 

Silence.

Alex wouldn’t be the one to break it. They had spent too long assuming too much.

“Yes.”

“Yes what?”

“Yes, Alex, I want to pursue a partnership again.”

“Jesus, don’t get all mopey on me now.” Alex snarked, rolling his eyes at Yassen’s stilted phrasing. “Do you want to draw a contract? Sign it in triplicate, “I swear I won’t leave Alex alone, and force him to track me through 11 different aliases and shell companies”?”

“Eleven?”

“Yeah, the assholes at MI6 wouldn’t give me any hints.”

“It could have been done in seven.”

“Oh fuck off.”

Yassen’s lips curled in heart wrenching fondness as Alex rolled his eyes and pushed to his feet. 

“I’m knackered, so unless you’ll let me crash on the couch, I’ll go find a hotel. We could meet tomor-”

“Second door on the right.” Yassen interrupted, pointing at the corridor. Alex blinked in surprise and disappeared around the corner. Gathering the dishes, but leaving the still full wine glasses, Yassen moved to the sink, turning the water on.

Behind him, he heard Alex shuffle back in the main room, stopping a few paces to his five. Pausing in his scrubbing, he turned to look at him. Alex’s face was softer, staring at Yassen with something like wonder. He could almost see the questions at the tip of his tongue.

Alex shook his head, and stepped to Yassen’s side, grabbing a dish towel. 

“Could use a few candles. And a tasteful, landscape painting.”

“Noted.”

“Maybe a bear skin. Make it properly Russian.”

“We are only allowed to display bears we kill with our bare hands.”

“Bah. I’ve been sparring against you for a year, the bear’s going to be a field trip.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little shorter, as far as chapters go, but I really wanted to focus on the two of them talking their problems out, without adding other scenes in!


	6. Chapter 6

“Ariane Crane, 47 years old, former tech magnate.” Alex presented, handing a tablet to Yassen. “Was about to cross the billion dollar mark in personal assets, when she suddenly went off the grid, six years ago. She’s reappeared six months ago, but apparently no one can attest to what she’s been doing for five years.”

For an intelligence agency, MI6 seemed to have a lot of difficulty keeping eyes on their rich and dangerous citizens. Then again, Yassen admitted, flipping through her profile, Crane never behaved in a threatening manner, beyond being on the way to being worth over a billion pounds.

“Some people simply retire.” Yassen pointed out evenly. Alex snorted and rolled his eyes at him.

“How’s that working out for you, mate?”

“You have a gift for interfering with my plans.”

“Good news then, because our assignment is interfering with _hers._ ”

They were sitting in Alex’s dining room, various laptops, tablets and paper notepads strewn around them on the table and a few chairs. From their return from Russia, a week ago, Alex had spent most of his days at MI6’s offices, first informing them of Yassen’s return, and then weathering days of their renewed efforts at convincing him how terrible of an idea it was.

Yassen himself, after Alex had thrown his luggage in the second bedroom and pretended not to hear when Yassen mentioned finding a new apartment, had been left mostly to his own devices in Chelsea. 

Beyond the obligatory visit from Crawley, of course, trying to bribe him into disappearing back into the Russian winter. Even MI6’s lapdog didn’t bother to argue more than half heartedly. Everyone was now very aware that Alex was the heart of the matter.

And Alex wanted Yassen in London.

Yassen wasn’t entirely sure what to do with that yet. Alex had seemed intent on going back to the easy rapport they had had before the Tyzeri operation, but he always seemed a bit surprised to find him still in the house when he came back from his daily ‘negotiation’ sessions. Everytime, there was a thrum in Yassen’s fingers to reach for Alex’s chin and swear, with all the words that didn’t come to him, that he wasn’t going anywhere.

This mission was a relief, a surrender on MI6’s part that they would tolerate him once more, for the sake of retaining the services of their best agent. A relief for Yassen, something else to think about than the fact that feeling Alex’s gaze on him was enough to make heat sprint down his spine.

Tulip Jones was many things, but she was also a practical woman, and if she had to make do with Yassen Gregorovich, emotionally compromised or not, to keep Alex Rider on her retainer for a few more years, she would do so.. 

“Hers?”

“Apparently, since she came back to England, she’s been in contact with a lot of very powerful, very shady people. The analysts’ best guess is that she’s trying to organize a terrorist attack on the London Financial district.”

“Best guess?” Yassen wasn’t a big fan of planning an operation on anyone’s “best guess”, let alone MI6’s.

“Former Tech Overlord.” Alex grimaced, shaking his head. “Very good at avoiding surveillance. We know she met with some of these people because we have undercover agents in their organizations that saw it with their own eyes. But any bugs, mics, cameras or sensors they ever tried to put on her failed one way or another. So all we have is some ‘best guesses’.”

“Perhaps she is looking at something simpler. An assassination, or a sting operation against a former rival.”

“You don’t need to go to three different criminal organisations for an assassination.”

“Some people prefer to study all their options.”

Alex shot him a quizzical look, but Yassen could only offer him a small shrug. He had never really handled clients himself. The only assassinations he hadn’t performed for SCORPIA or MI6, he had taken on independently.

“Alright, well, until we find evidence suggesting otherwise, we’ll work on this assuming the ‘best guesses’ are accurate. As far as we know, she’s still setting up her whole plan, so if we manage to grab her quickly enough, we might snip it in the bud.”

“We are meant to kidnap her?”

“Best case scenario, yes. MI6 would rather have a chance to pick at her brain if they can. She seems to be working on her own behalf, but with the kind of money and influence she has, they’d rather not leave any loose threads dangling. If not, then we have to ‘neutralise’ her.”

Alex hesitated on that last point, eyes flashing to Yassen for a second before returning to his tablet. Yassen didn’t sigh, but spared a moment to curse Mrs. Jones. A mission that had a strong chance of requiring him to assassinate someone in cold blood, when the same thing had already driven a wedge between Alex and him.

Killing two birds with one stone.

Practical.

“Do we have anyone close to her?”

“Not as such, but we’re lucky. She likes to be seen. She’s been around most of the more expensive London restaurants, she’s attended multiple charity galas, she’s even gone on TV to speak a couple of times. The usual drivel about wanting to give back to the world.”

Billionaires, Yassen thought with distaste. All narcissists that believed they could become master criminals if they threw enough money at hired guns.

“If she’d bothered to wear a puffy coat and a baseball cap, we might never have noticed her until it was too late.” Alex echoed Yassen’s musing with a wry grin. “But rich assholes will be rich assholes, and we get to profit.” 

“Do we have an idea of her schedule?”  
  
“No. It’s one thing she’s got going for her, as far as we could figure out, she seems to keep to no schedule, and decides on her daily plans at random.”

“Security?”

“Four bodyguards on her at all times, possibly twice as much posted close enough to intervene if necessary. She keeps to very public places when she’s out, and her house is a fortress. We won’t be able to get her there.”

So they had to catch her when she was in public. The security, the crowds and the unpredictability, Yassen could work around if this was an assassination. He could set up a rifle quickly, and finding sniper nests with good lines of sight was a second nature to him.

A kidnapping however, would be a lot more complicated.

“Ideas?”

“We could always try to seduce her. Have you worked on your leer, with all your retirement free time?”

“The elks seemed unaffected.”

“Drat.”

Alex leaned back in his chair, rubbing his eyes.

“We need to find a way to isolate her, at least from civilians, without making it obvious.” Alex said. “Somewhere that _feels_ public, but would give us clear, safe access to her. And ideally would make it complicated for the additional security teams to reach us, if she’s able to alert them.”

Yassen pondered, tapping his fingers on the table.

“The Royal Opera House is opening a new production of Orpheus in two weeks.” He offered slowly. Alex’s eyes flashed to him, sharp and attentive. “If they send her an invitation to one of their most exclusive boxes for the performance, and we make sure the boxes on either side of hers are either empty, or filled with agents, we could get to her.” 

“And that way, we’d have a clear time and place to organize around. Brilliant! I’ll have MI6 make contact with the Opera House, and make sure they send the invitation on the day, so she doesn’t spook.”

“Hopefully she doesn’t already have tickets.” Yassen mused.

“Why would she? She’s been able to get a table at the Chiltern Firehouse at eight on a Friday night by just showing up.” 

Yassen hummed, researching for comprehensive floor plans of the Royal Opera House. Alex snorted and clapped him on the shoulder. He _didn't_ lean into it.

“Think two weeks is going to be enough to shake the cobwebs, old man?”  
  
“We need to do an on-site reconnaissance pass this afternoon.” Yassen said, ignoring Alex’s remark, and the hand still squeezing his shoulder. The maps he had access to were meant to be public facing, he needed a better mental schematic of security measures and exit routes.

“Sure thing. And tomorrow, we can do brunch with mimosas, ease you back in gently.”

* * *

The Royal Opera House’s lobby was full of London’s best and richest, all dressed up to the nines, milling around hoping to be seen by the right people. Yassen, in a good quality but unremarkable black suit, was mingling with the rest of them, pretending to be a patron waiting for the rest of his group. 

Every few minutes, he would spot Alex at the entrance, disguised as part of the Opera’s staff for the night, invisible to this kind of crowd in his slightly ill-fitting uniform. He’d be in a prime position to spot their target as soon as she came in. 

According to their contact in the administration, Crane had confirmed she would attend the performance, this didn’t seem like the kind of opportunity for exposure that she would miss, but there was always a chance she’d change her mind.

Their two weeks of surveillance hadn’t made it any clearer if her flighty tendencies were deliberate, for security, or a personality issue. If Ariane Crane didn’t come to this performance, it would be a pain to get to her a second time. Especially if she had suspected their involvement.

“Welcome to the Royal Opera House, ma’am.”

Yassen’s earpiece came to life with a short bout of static, Alex’s voice slightly distorted as he greeted one of the guests. A quick look as the crowd shifted confirmed that Ariane Crane had indeed entered the building. Medium height, full-figured, dressed in a beautiful taupe gown, sharp grey eyes. She swaned into the lobby, her four bodyguards settling in formation around her. Two stayed close, one step behind her on either side, the others pushing a bit farther to intercept threats and make space for her. 

The four men looked exactly as bodyguards should. They had been hired from a well-known firm, but now were directly under Crane’s employ. 

Yassen tapped twice on the band on his wrist, confirming that he had seen her, and he casually went up the steps to the Grand Tier Boxes, keeping a casual eye on the shifting mass of bodies. Alex, once he changed out of his uniform, would join him in the box to the left of Crane’s, while three other agents would occupy the one of the right. Given the delicacy of the operation, they were under strict orders not to intervene unless Alex gave the order.

Leaving the overcrowded lobby was a relief, as was the fresh air. Yassen, unless forced, did not work this close to targets. High on the first balcony, with few people around, he’d have had a better viewpoint to watch over them, maybe on the left where the large potted plants could cover him.

Yassen’s eyes fluttered shut, and he inhaled. He couldn’t afford to think like an assassin today. Alex had had the both of them in the thick of the crowd because that was the best way to get a feel for the target, and initiate their kidnapping. 

The box was pleasant, and he allowed a moment of satisfaction that he would get to see at least part of the opera. Perhaps Alex’s curiosity would be pricked, and he could convince him to attend a proper performance at some other point. 

Twenty minutes later, just as the show was about to start, he heard the telltale shuffling and scratching that indicated the occupant of Crane’s box were taking their spots. Thirty seconds after, Alex slipped through the curtains, giving Yassen a sharp nod as he took a seat. Ariane was in place.

As the light dimmed, he leaned over to whisper in Yassen’s ear.

“She was having a long talk with the Minister of Trade. He seemed pretty thrilled about whatever she was saying.”

“I can’t imagine he’ll be as pleased with her when she destroys the London Stock Exchange.” Yassen murmured back, too aware of Alex’s proximity to dare move.

“Maybe she was promising him a spot in her ‘new world order’, or some such bullshit.” 

Yassen smiled, but shushed Alex with a glance as the curtains opened. They’d have to wait to make their move until Crane felt safer and they were reasonably sure they wouldn’t run into stragglers. They had installed a discrete camera in front of Crane’s box, to make sure she wasn’t slipping away. Agents were watching all the theater’s exits. Yassen planned on enjoying as much of the performance as he could until Alex gave the signal.

Thirty minutes later, he felt Alex’s shift, and his focus snapped back from the music to his partner. He was already watching him, and jerked his chin towards Crane’s box. 

One last check-in.

Yassen nodded, and they slipped out. He left his gun into its holster inside his jacket, but unsheathed his knife slightly for easier access. They wanted to be as discreet as possible, which meant dealing with the guards quickly and silently, and ideally without blood. Bare hands incapacitation would be the first option, with a quick blade the second. Firing a gun might send the entire auditorium in a panic.

Yassen and Alex took their place on either side of the curtains leading to Crane’s box.

Step 1- Deal with the guards. Silently.

Step 2- Gag and bound Ariane Crane before she could raise an alarm.

Step 3- Use the service stairs twenty meters away to evacuate Crane to the MI6 car already waiting for them outside.

Step 4- Deliver Ariane Crane to the tender care of MI6.

Yassen looked at Alex.

Alex smiled, sharp, focused and anticipatory.

Go.

They dove through the curtains. Alex pounced on the guard on the left. Yassen had his arm around the right one before any of the others had time to turn to figure out what was going on. He snapped the temple of his opponent against the balustrade twice, just to be sure, and let the body slide to the floor.

He straightened out just in time to see one of the guards pull Crane into the back of the box, the other drawing a pistol at Alex. Yassen pushed back the surge of fear at seeing a gun less than a meter away from his partner’s head, and he skirted back and to the left to let Alex charge at the gunman, so he could reach the last one and Ariane.

Except Alex didn’t charge like Yassen had seen him do so often.

Alex didn’t do anything. 

Yassen, not being used to Alex Rider standing still in any circumstances, miscalculated and ran straight into his partner’s side. Alex grunted, as surprised as him, his eyes flashing away from the guards for an instant.

Too long. Almost in slow motion, Yassen saw the gunman’s arm tense, and he grabbed at Alex’s shoulder, going limp and drawing his partner with him to the floor.

Bang!

The bullet whizzed above their heads, and Alex cursed. Yassen rolled to his feet to try and grab Crane, but it was too late. The gunman was already on top of them, and Crane was running away, covered by the last guard. Yassen sweeped the man’s feet from under him, dropping him at Alex’s feet for a quick knockout.

Flicking his smaller knife from his boot, he threw it at the last guard.

The man grunted as it impacted into his thigh, but he didn’t stop, and they were swallowed by the tidal wave of panicked attendees that were flooding out of the main theater. 

Alex grabbed his shoulder, and dragged him to the service stairs.

“Come on, security is almost here.”

Yassen threw one last frustrated glare at the crowd, and followed Alex, sprinting down the stairs.

“What was that?” He asked sharply.

“What was what.” Alex answered in kind.

“You didn’t move!”

“I had a gun pointed at my head, Yassen!”

“That never stopped you before.” He growled, pushing the door of the alley open.

“It wasn’t me I-” Alex stopped himself, guilty.

Ah. He’d been worried how Yassen would react if he threw himself into danger again. 

Silence.

Stare.

“Alex…”

“No, that one’s on me.” Alex growled, raking his hand through his hair. “She’ll be going back to her house.”

“Yes.”

“Is there any good sniper spot between here and her house?”

“Alex, the chances she takes the proper route-”

“Is there?” Alex snapped, turning back to glare at him.

“Building under construction on Piccadilly.”

“I know the one. Go.”

“Alex.”

“I’ll get her there.”

Silence.

Stare.

Time ticking away.

The weight of promises they had barely breathed out loud, but were bound by regardless.

“Ok.”

Alex grinned grimly, and sprinted to the MI6 car, kicking the agent out the driver’s seat. He threw the guitar case they had stashed in the back to Yassen, who didn’t even watch him drive off, already sprinting down Floral Street. 

This area of London was a mess of traffic and one-way streets, which meant that Yassen would probably be quicker on foot than Crane’s car would be. With the time it would take to get into the building, up several flights of stairs, and settle with his rifle, however, it would be tight timing at best.

Assuming Alex was able to corral Crane, with or without her additional teams, where they needed her to be. 

Less than 10 minutes later, Yassen was lying on his front on cold concrete, peering down at the street. Waiting for his heart rate to go back to normal, he opened the comm channel.

“In position.”

“Copy.” Alex’s voice was tight. “I’ve got two cars with me on top of Crane’s. Ford Focus, black. We’re four minutes out, if all goes well.”

Crane herself had been driving a blue Limited Series Sián FKP 37 Lamborghini, easy to identify. 

Breathe in and out.

He could hear car horns and harsh curses from Alex’s side of the comms, and he let his worry wash over him. 

Alex would be fine. Yassen simply had to take out the other cars. Alex could take care of the rest.

“2 minutes out.”

“Copy.”

The traffic was light enough on Piccadilly at this hour that Yassen wouldn’t have trouble with line of sight. 

It also meant the cars would be able to drive by fast.

Slim window of opportunity.

If they lost Crane now, they wouldn’t get as good a shot at her for a long time, if ever. Near death experiences tended to teach people caution.

The smart ones at least.

Breathe in and out.

“First car coming in. 5, 4, 3, 2 -”

A black car roared up the street, alarming pedestrians. Yassen exhaled, tuning out the shouts and the horns.

Breathe in and out.

Left front wheel

Bang.

The car screeched, veering to the left, and crashing perpendicularly into a lamppost in the middle of the street. It was blocking the entire width of the lane, and traffic was slowing on the other side to peer at the accident.

“Second car behind me.”

Yassen turned his rifle until he caught sight of the 3 other cars. Crane’s blue Lamborghini was in front, already decelerating to not run headlong into the crashed car, Alex’s close on her tail. 

Behind them, the second black car.

Adjust aim.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

“Wait.”

Yassen stilled his finger. 

“Alex.”

He wouldn’t have much longer to safely dispose of the second car.

“Can you make a distraction? Long enough for me to get to her car.”

Exhale.

“Yes.”

“Go.”

Without thinking further about it, Yassen shot down the already unstable lamppost the car had hit, sending it into the digital billboard on the other side of the street. The sound of the crash and the uncontrolled ball of sparks drew everyone’s attention, including the guards, who popped out the car to get a better look at the situation. Yassen turned his rifle back on them, ready to intervene if they noticed Alex.

“Clear.” 

His partner’s voice was a bit tight, but sounded unharmed. Daring to take his eye off the rifle for a second, Yassen watched as the Lamborghini backed out and rolled over to the other side of the road, taking off in the opposite direction. Immediately, the MI6 car and the last black car reacted to follow.

“What now?” Yassen asked, immobile.

“Agent Stonewall will take the last fuckers on a merry chase, and me and Ms. Crane will go have a talk.”

“Message me when you have an address.”

“Of course honey! Don’t forget to grab some beers on your way back!”

Yassen grinned, putting away his rifle.

_Little shit._

* * *

Yassen reached Alex’s location, in an old warehouse along the river at the same time as Crawley and the retrieval car. Alex was waiting for them, leaning on the car. Ariane Crane was gagged and bound in the back seat. The last guard, the one Yassen had stabbed in the thigh, was out cold in the passenger seat. 

Crane glared daggers at them as they approach. Yassen only noticed long enough to be amused. Alex’s satisfied smile was much more interesting. And perplexing.

The warmth, he was used to.

The weird twist in his stomach and the powerful urge to smile back, less so. 

He let Crawley and his men grab Crane, and tolerated exactly two minutes of congratulatory nonsense before he stepped in. Crawley sighed as he did. 

“We’ll see you both tomorrow for your debrief. Mrs. Jones has questions about what happened at the Opera.”

"We’ll be there.” Alex assured, already looking at Yassen. Crawley sighed again, shaking his head, but left without any other comment. 

“Those were good shots.” Alex grinned as Yassen stepped in front of him. His eyes were wide and he was bouncing slightly, high on adrenaline. Not unexpected, given the high speed car chase in the streets of London, but a welcome sight nonetheless. Alex was open, satisfied and unharmed.

Endearing. 

Warm and bright.

_Close enough to reach._

“So you said. Shall we?” Yassen pointed at the car he had commandeered to get there. Alex snorted but complied, sliding in the passenger seat.

Yassen drove out of the warehouse, and took the long, tortuous route to Chelsea. His partner looked out the window, lights zooming past in the darkness. 

“Are you going to ask?” Alex, unsurprisingly, broke the silence first.

“Ask?”

“You know ‘what did you think you were doing, Alex’. Or do the eyebrow thing.”

“The eyebrow thing.”

“Yeah, the thing where you move your eyebrow 2 milimeters, and I tell you everything you want to know.”

Yassen shifted his eyes to Alex for a second, and he snapped his fingers with a smile.

“That eyebrow thing!”

Yassen didn’t answer, turning back to the road.

“So, are you?” Alex shifted so he was leaning his back against the door, staring at Yassen.

“My first shot looked like a normal car accident, and with the additional traffic, managed to force Crane’s car to stop. If I had shot the second car, my presence would have become a lot more obvious. One car malfunctioning is easy to cover. A sniper shooting two cars, in the middle of London, while a third one, owned by one of the richest person in the country, is accosted by an armed man, much less so. So you took the opportunity to discreetly take out Crane’s last guard and drive her somewhere else while I distracted everyone.”

Alex blinked a few times before laughing, mussing his hair.

“That obvious, uh?”

“I’ve had almost an hour to think it over. And I’ve become somewhat familiar with the peculiar ways your mind works in the last year.”

“And at Piccadilly?”

Yassen paused, then shrugged.

“You told me not to shoot.”

Alex was silent for a second.

“The guards in the first car?”

“Alive. The driver has a concussion.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Alex reach out, hesitate, then laying a cautious hand on his wrist. When Yassen didn’t shake it off, he squeezed gently.

“Thank you.”

Yassen didn’t answer. But when Alex removed his hand, perhaps a few seconds too late, he surprised the both of them by reaching over and gently brushing Alex’s hair back into place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I came up with this AU to side-step the Age Thing and make it so Yassen and Alex could meet on a more equal footing, and I had wrote about half when I realised it also allowed me not to deal with the whole "You killed my uncle" thing :P
> 
> Also, I've never been to London, so anything I mentioned or talked about came from a quick Google search, I hope it doesn't sound too off


	7. Chapter 7

Yassen cleared another corner, gun steady in his hands. The facility wasn’t on high alert yet, Trent likely still trying to figure out how much of his operation had been compromised. 

Soft footsteps to his right.

Stepping into the main corridor just in time to fall in place by Alex’s shoulder, he threw a look outside the windows. Dark and still. 

“South wing clear?” Alex asked, walking forward.

“No sign of any of the family.”

“The wife and daughter were brought to the panic room.”

“Locked?”

“Yep. Ready to be picked up by the bosses whenever they bother to show up.”

After two months of undercover work in Trent’s organization, him as a cook and Alex as a personal trainer, they were both eager for this to be over. Yassen wondered if they could slip away for another vacation. The month they disappeared in New Zealand at the beginning of the year had been more than pleasant. Maybe Vietnam this time? Or Malaysia.

Yassen was partial to Venice, but he doubted Alex would be too eager to revisit the city.

“Main office?”

“Probably. Burning everything, if he’s smart.” Alex grinned. Both of them had been taking turns copying and squirrelling copies of Trent’s documents for weeks. There would be very little of interest in that room that MI6 didn’t already have access to. 

Except Trent himself of course.

They had had a plan for grabbing Trent in his bed three days from now. Except one of Trent’s employees had been revealed to be a mole for a rival group, prompting the man to try and go to ground.

Without, of course, superfluous staff like cooks and personal trainers.

“Kinda weird.” Alex commented as they walked just this side of casual to Trent’s office, “To have an operation go tits up from someone else’s incompetence.”

“Our assignment isn’t compromised.”

“We’re stalking around at one in the morning and you’ve got your gun out, Yassen. This isn’t exactly smooth sailing.”

Yassen didn’t bother pointing out Alex’s gun was also out, if pointed at the floor. They reached the office, and the guards, which they had both been friendly with, didn’t have time to lean away from the walls before they were knocked out. 

Stepping back to Alex’s seven, Yassen waited for him to push the doors open, stepping through in time with him.

“Stop, or I shoot the bitch!”

Trent was standing behind his desk, holding a gun to one of the secretaries’ head. Pretty, early thirties, with short straight hair, she had been dating the mole. Yassen hadn’t thought Trent to be the kind of man to get his hands dirty, but his hand wasn’t shaking on his gun.

“Put down your weapon!” The man spat again, glaring at Alex’s gun. He didn’t seem to have noticed Yassen’s, his right hand hidden behind Alex’s back.

Alex had clearly clued on that as well. He shifted slightly, angling his left shoulder back as he pretended to put down his weapon. Yassen breathed in deeply, eyes sharp on Trent as he waited for his partner’s signal.

Alex twisted sharply to clear his line of fire. Yassen raised his arm and shot.

Trent’s blood sprayed the bookshelf behind him, and the secretary squealed as she was released and stumbled away. Trent clutched at his face, panicked. Yassen’s bullet had shattered his jaw, and had hit close enough to both his neck and the vital parts of his head that he was probably sure he was dying.

Alex jumped forward to help the woman up and out of the room as Yassen rolled the wriggling man to his front, zip-tying his hands behind his back.

“ETA five minutes.” Alex announced as he walked back in the office, rummaging in one of the cabinets to find a towel, which he handed to Yassen to staunch some of the bleeding.

Yassen nodded once, tying the towel around Trent’s jaw, which had the added bonus of muffling his whimpers.

Their target unlikely to cause any more inconveniences, Yassen and Alex took one last look around the office to make sure Trent hadn’t actually been burning, shredding, or otherwise disposing of evidence. MI6 could deep scrub the records once they picked up Trent, while Alex and Yassen could enjoy their downtime.

For a few seconds, Yassen wished he had Scorpia money still, to charter a yacht for a week or two. He could do with no human contact outside of Alex for a little while.

Their MI6 contact in Poland arrived on time, surprisingly, and handed the both of them new passports and plane tickets back to London that very night. Since they had managed to  _ not  _ blow their covers, they were to disappear before they were linked to the hostile takeover MI6 would disguise their sting as. Just in case they had reasons to reuse these identities in future assignments. Yassen, at least, had met several of Trent’s shady contacts when they had been invited for lunch or dinner.

They arrived at the airport just in time to clear security and grab their seats. As soon as they were in the air, Alex commandeered his shoulder as a pillow and dozed off. Soft breaths brushed against the side of his neck, and in the stillness of the sleepy plane, Yassen allowed himself to lean into Alex’s solid warmth. 

Their long term undercover assignment meant it had been almost nine weeks since Yassen had been exposed to Alex’s casual brand of physical affection, and the familiar weight centered him almost as much as it unsettled him. 

Their complimentary covers had allowed them a lot of leighway to be frequently seen talking together, but always at arms-length. Always professional. 

Yassen wasn’t oblivious enough to pretend that that necessary distance had nothing to do with his desire to whisk Alex away to a private retreat. Cautious of curious eyes, and not to jostle the head from his shoulder, Yassen gently brushed his fingers through Alex’s soft hair, watching the lights of Europe under them through the window.

Alex shifted against him, and he froze, caught unaware, and a bit guilty, until Alex pushed gently against his hand. Carefully, he resumed his gentle motions, and Alex hummed, pleased.

“You’re thinking very loud.”

“And you are sleeping louder.” Yassen couldn’t help but whisper back, fond.

“Can’t sleep at all, with all the noise your brain is making.” Alex groused, shifting again. With a put-upon sigh neither of them took seriously, Yassen leaned back in his seat and relaxed deliberately to help Alex find a comfortable position.

“Goodnight Саша.”

“Sweet dreams.”

* * *

Their house smelled a bit stale, after being unoccupied for so long, and Alex shooed Yassen to take a shower and change clothes as he busied himself opening the windows to let the air circulate.

When he came back down, the living room was filled with a fresh morning breeze. Alex had disappeared upstairs to wash up himself, and Yassen sunk into the plush couch with a sigh. He hadn’t noticed how at home he felt in the Chelsea house until they had had to leave for a couple of months.

More at home than he had felt anywhere since he left Estrov, probably. Even more so than the house he actually bought for himself.

Inhaling, Yassen closed his eyes and enjoyed the crisp silence.

Maybe they could go back to Saint-Petersbourg for their vacation. Russia in June wasn’t too cold for Alex’s delicate sensibilities, and Yassen thought he would enjoy introducing him to the more pleasant aspects of Russian culture. 

At the very least, the ones that didn’t involve nuclear armageddon.

Alex’s weight dropped on the couch next to him, just far enough that the chances of them brushing accidentally were slim. Eyes cracking open just enough to peer at his partner, Yassen smiled at how his still damp hair was sticking up in various places.

“Well wasn’t that a dull couple of months .” Alex said, rolling his head on the couch’s back to look back at Yassen.

“Not all assignments can end with exploding submarines.”

“Thank god for small blessings.” Alex grumbled. He had been prickly for a few weeks after that mission, upset at how close Yassen had been to going down with the sub. 

Yassen arched an eyebrow as Alex failed to elaborate, and he sighed.

“It’s just... two months?”

“A lot of undercover operations last for a long time.” 

“Not the ones they send me on. No point sending Alex Bloody Rider if shit isn’t about to hit the fan.”

“Given your attitude, I can hardly blame MI6 for not sending you for more deep cover work.” Yassen smiled at Alex’s eye roll.

“Har Har. And I’m sure you were  _ thrilled  _ that the most interesting thing to happen for two bloody months was Trent sending his plate back three times that one evening.”

Yassen’s issues with their assignment had very little to do with their target’s disposition, or the lack of excitement. In fact, there were multiple ways he could picture spending two uneventful months. All of which involved Alex as his only company, his sketching pads, and a pile of books or two.

But those were not exactly reflections he could share with Alex. He ignored the pang in chest with a loose shrug.

“I never expected Trent to be a man of refinement, or taste.”

“I’m not a ‘man of refinement or taste’ either, but I was ready to stab him in the thigh with the salad fork if he made one more comment about the spice levels.”

“I have never had to conceal vegetables in your meals, Alex, so I assure you, you are several levels of food appreciation above Trent.”

Alex snorted, stretching back against the couch.

“Several levels above, uh? I guess that makes you a Food Black Belt?”

“Not remotely, but the flattery is noted.”

He blinked innocently at him a few times, with a wide winning smile Yassen knew too well to trust.

“If I lay it on a bit thicker, can we order pizza for dinner?”

“Pizza.”

“Come on, you’ve been cooking all day, every day, for two months, you can take a night off.”

“You are perfectly capable of cooking.”

“Sure. I’ll cook tomorrow. Whatever you want.”

Yassen stared at Alex’s bright, warm eyes, knowing full well he was fighting a losing battle.

“You will cook for three days.”

“Deal!” Alex perked up, sitting straighter on the couch. “Tea?”

“Yes, thank you.” Yassen couldn’t help but smile fondly back at his energy. 

Alex made to get up from the couch, but hesitated. Had he heard someth-

Alex leaned towards him, gently pressing his mouth to Yassen’s for a brief, endless second.

His lips were warm, dry and soft. His arm was brushing against Yassen’s shoulder. He smelled of soap, the laundry detergent they both used and fresh air. He had closed his eyes, but Yassen’s were wide open. This close, he could count Alex’s eyelashes, and his almost invisible sun spots.

Alex smoothly got to his feet and slipped into the kitchen.

Yassen’s heartbeat thundered in his chest until it echoed in the tip of his fingers. Every spot Alex had been touching him was branded. His lips barely felt like they belonged to his own body anymore.

Someone -Alex- had tied a string around his ribcage, and Yassen followed it’s pull in something of a daze. Alex’s back was to him as he fussed with the kettle.

“Alex?” 

His voice was steady. It might have surprised him, if he had been able to think of anything beyond the heady buzzing in his ears.

“Pass me the tea bags, will you?” Alex asked, not turning around. 

Deliberately casual. 

“Alex.” Yassen tried again, taking a step closer. Alex didn’t move away, but didn’t turn towards him either.

“We should have grabbed some milk on the way, ours is way out of date.”

Yassen needed to see him. He needed to see Alex’s eyes. 

Slowly, he reached out to him, wrapping soft fingers around Alex’s chin to turn his face to him. 

“Саша.”

Alex’s fingers tightened around the edge of the sink, but he didn’t fight it, didn’t try to get away from Yassen’s loose grasp. If anything, he seemed to lean into his hand, warm and solid despite his obvious nerves.

“Going to say anything?” He asked, brows furrowed in a faint challenge Yassen saw right through, but no uncertainty.

“This could be very ill-advised, Alex.” Yassen couldn’t help but whisper, chest twisting with a dozen emotions he couldn’t begin to parse out. Alex snorted.

“Why, are you going to break my heart, Yassen?” 

Without waiting for Yassen’s mind to untangle back into words and sentences, Alex pressed back closer, trapping Yassen’s hand between their throats. Their lips brushed with the same softness as earlier, yet Yassen’s bones seemed to vibrate under the impossible tension. Fingers twitching against the underside of Alex’s jaw in an almost caress, Yassen tilted his head to allow him easier access.

He had thought he was used to Alex’s warmth, and here he was, burning. 

But Alex was already pulling away with the burgeon of a grin blooming on his lips. The lips Yassen had yet to actually taste. The lips that were still so tantalisingly close. 

Alex’s eyes sparkled as he tried to speak, but Yassen huffed, and slid his hand to the back of Alex’s neck, dragging his head down to catch his mouth. 

Not freezing for a moment, Alex wrapped his arms tightly around his waist, tugging back until Yassen was pinning him against the counter. Yassen opened his mouth, licking at the seam of Alex’s mouth. His partner opened for him with a sigh, and Yassen could finally taste the joke that had been at the tip of his tongue.

They spent a century pressed together in the kitchen, exploring each other’s mouth, dutifully ignoring the brasier stoking between them. Even their hands remained still and chaste, as if to stretch this moment, this first spark, into a short eternity.

Until Alex tore his mouth away, panting delightfully in the silent house.Yassen let him, pressing his forehead to Alex’s cheekbone to steady himself. He was hardly a virgin, yet this felt… momentous in a way even his first sexual encounter hadn’t been.

“If you want to take this slow,” Alex growled, arms flexing around Yassen reflexively, “now’s the time to say.”

Yassen might have laughed, if he had had enough air in his lungs for it.

His skin felt so tight he could barely breathe, his gut was a mess of fire and hunger, and he was seconds away from cutting off Alex’s clothes with a kitchen knife. Peeling himself away, to  _ take it slow  _ or otherwise might actually kill him.

Yassen ducked his head and bit hard at the junction of Alex’s jaw and neck. Alex jolted and cursed, pushing Yassen’s face away from his neck long enough to growl “Bastard” and crush their mouths together again.

Alex kissed like a starved man. Yassen yielded, happy to be devoured, one hand pushing into his soft hair, the other drifting lower to grab at his ass, fingers digging into the firm flesh. 

Gasp.

“Couch?” Alex asked breathlessly, lips close enough to brush with every syllable.

“Bed.”

He wanted space to take Alex apart. Alex huffed in frustration at the longer trip to the bedrooms, but steered the both of them up the stairs.   


Distracted by Alex’s unsurprisingly clever mouth, only the ever-aware survival-wired part of his brain registered being dragged into Alex’s room until an unexpected twist pushed him on the mattress, looking up at Alex. 

Oh god, Alex.

His partner was breathing heavily, mouth sinfully red, still damp hair sticking in every direction. He was beautiful. He was  _ beautiful _ . And he was looking at Yassen like he was mentally mapping the order in which he planned to consume him.

“Bloody hell.” Alex whispered. “Look at you.”

A twinge of pride sparked across his sternum at Alex’s appreciation, and Yassen grabbed at the back of his shirt.

“No!”

He stopped, as Alex launched himself at the mattress, slapping his hands away and licking his way into his mouth. Bemused Yassen wrapped an arm around Alex’s back, drawing him flush to his own chest. The other hand, he slid under Alex’s shirt to splay on his lower back, his skin soft where it wasn’t scarred.

“I want to unwrap you myself.” Alex whispered with a wicked grin, pushing himself back up to kneel over Yassen. Focused and fully clothed as he was, Alex might not be aware that his ass was rubbing at the edge of Yassen’s growing erection, but Yassen certainly was. The knees pressing steadily on either side on his torso felt like the only anchors tethering him to his good senses. 

“I’m hardly a present.” 

“Best gift  _ I  _ ever got.” 

Alex spared him the need to push an answer through his suddenly very tight throat, dashing for a quick kiss before slipping his hands under Yassen’s shirt. He caressed up from Yassen’s abdomen, fingers trailing old scars tenderly, cherishing every centimeter of skin he uncovered, setting his nerves on fire. Refusing to let his eyes never waver from his face, cataloguing the minute shifts in Alex’s expression, Yassen brought up a hand to trace the edge of Alex’s agape mouth.

“Stop trying to distract me.” Alex complained, but he turned his head to kiss the tip of Yassen’s fingers.

“You don’t usually take such care with wrapping paper.”

“I didn’t think you’d be a fan of me literally ripping your clothes off.”

Yassen pushed his hand into Alex’s hair and used it to drag him into a biting kiss. Feeling his partner melt against him, he tugged Alex’s shirt up until he had to pull his mouth away to throw it away, grinning at his affronted expression. Only decades of perfecting an unbreakable sniper focus kept him from losing himself into the smooth skin suddenly laid out in front of him like the finest of meals.

“Hey! I was-”

Cutting his complaint with his lips, Yassen slipped his hands under Alex’s waistband to grab at his ass, fingers digging into the delectable muscle. Alex groaned against his mouth, and again, louder and higher, when Yassen used his leverage to press their crotches together. They were both more than half-hard, and Yassen’s cock only filled further as Alex started rutting against him with small, aborted thrusts.

“Pushy.” Alex panted against his mouth. Yassen only hummed, ducking his mouth to nip at the tender skin under his jaw, satisfied at his loud gasp. Alex’s hands scrambled at his sides, nails scratching maddeningly at his ribs, Yassen’s hips pushing up instinctively in answer.

“You’re still wearing too many clothes.” Alex complained.

“Who’s fault might that be.” 

“I was trying to take my time, you bastard.”

“Hopefully your twenty two years old stamina is as good as you boasted, then.”

Alex wrenched himself away with a growl, and he pushed Yassen back to the mattress when he tried to follow. Not wasting a moment, he yanked Yassen’s shirt over his head. He immediately attached his mouth to the crook of Yassen’s neck, biting down hard. Yassen grunted, arching up to try and press his newly bare skin against Alex’s.

Pleased with his effect, Alex apparently decided to cover his entire neck with marks, sucking, biting and licking at every centimeter of skin. The only area to be spared was the long, straight scar that he kissed with something that felt like reverence.

His hands, never idle, scratched back down Yassen’s ribs until he was deftly undoing his belt buckle and his fly. 

Cool air shocked some sense into him as his trousers and boxers were pushed down his thighs. Alex peeled his mouth away from Yassen’s tender throat to peer down at his very hard cock.

“Hello there, gorgeous.”

He confidently wrapped his hand around the shaft, and Yassen groaned, both at the sensation and at the hunger in his eyes.

“Alex.” 

“Don’t worry, Yassen, I still like you too.” He answered, pumping his hands experimentally a few times. Against his better judgement and will, Yassen’s eyes rolled back in his skull, and his hips arched up, stuttering in rhythm. Alex’s fingers, calloused and almost as clever as his tongue, seemed hellbent on learning every trick Yassen’s body could teach. Blindly, he reached down and wrapped his hand around Alex’s wrist.

“Alex!” Yassen tried again, voice low and gravely, grabbing at his waistband. Alex cut off whatever else he might have tried to say with a kiss, stealing the air in his lungs, but he did help Yassen unzip and push off his own trousers. Shifting away from Yassen’s lap long enough to push all their remaining clothes to the ground, he was finally, in all his glory, naked.

A vision of tanned skin, wide shoulders and wild smiles. What little breath Yassen had been able to draw since Alex first kissed him fled. 

Oh  _ Alex. _

Yassen reached for his waist, intent on rolling Alex under him so he could lavish his partner - his lover now, and wasn’t that a thought to drive him to senselessness- with all the attentions he had bottled up for a year. 

Alex saw right through him, snatching his hands mid-air.

“Nope. Not happening.” He said, splaying his hands over Yassen’s chest with possessive glee. “You’ll get your turn next time.”

Next time.

_ Next time. _

Yassen melted back into the mattress, into Alex’s eager touch, all fight sapped out him. Alex swung his leg back over his thighs and finally, finally, brought them together. The delirious first slide of their cocks together wiped his mind of anything that wasn’t Alex. Alex’s skin, Alex’s scent, Alex’s feverish warmth. His breath stuttered, and one of his hands grabbed at Alex’s hips. The other curled around the back of his head, desperate for contact.

“Look at me.” Yassen demanded, as Alex's eyes seemed transfixed by the sight of their cocks pushed together. “Alex, look at me.”

He finally obeyed, blinking down at Yassen. His pupils were blown out and he was flushing from the top of his cheeks down to his nipples.

“Yassen.” He whispered, vulnerable and gorgeous.

“Саша.”

Leaning forward to prop an elbow next to Yassen’s head, Alex twisted his hips, eyes rolling back in his head at the sensation. Yassen hissed, and pushed up into the movement, chasing the pleasure sparkling up his spine.

Shifting so he could press his forehead against Yassen’s, Alex wrapped a hand around their cocks, pushing them together as they fucked into his fist. Yassen’s grip around the nape of his neck had to be painful by now, but Alex only arched back into it.

“Yassen, Yassen, Yassen.” He panted. His name.

His Alex.

Yassen was beyond words, lost in the sensation of Alex’s cock against his, of Alex’s hand around him, of Alex’s hips pistoning above him. The last of his willpower was spent on keeping his eyes open, on not missing a second of Alex’s pleasure. He wanted to learn every line of Alex’s blissed expressions so he could trace them in his sleep.

He wanted…

He _ wanted _ ...

“Yassen.” Alex sighed, fist tightening around both of them, and he was coming. Yassen stole the sob from his lips, forcing himself into stillness as Alex painted their bellies white. 

“Yassen, please- please come.” 

Alex’s plea plunged deep into his mind, taking over his body as his hips twitched once, twice into his slackening grip. 

His orgasm was an inevitability, and he sank into ecstasy with a long sigh, relishing in the weight of Alex’s eyes on him.

Rolling off of him, and dragging Yassen out of the wet, sweaty part of the sheets, Alex grabbed at the tissues on the side table. They were both cleaned summarily, before he sagged bonelessly into the mattress with a helpless giggle that echoed along Yassen’s ribs.

Yassen waited for his breathing to return to normal, draped over Alex’s chest. A gentle hand was trailing up and down his spine, and it was only determination that kept it from lulling him to sleep, despite the early hour.

“I might not be the easiest person to be intimate with.” He murmured into Alex’s skin, barely audible in the silent room. He hadn’t wanted to say the words. His every instincts were rebelling at the thought of changing Alex’s mind. But they needed to be said. They needed to understand each other, in this more than anything else in their lives. Perhaps he could survive Alex Rider pushing him away again right now, before his heart had had time to settle in this new reality. 

The hand on his back paused, then pressed flat against his kidneys as Alex snorted.

“Way to enjoy the afterglow, mate.” Alex soothed the snarky words by grabbing the hand Yassen had wrapped around his ribs, tangling their fingers and resting it above his right pectoral. “That’s morning after talk.”

Yassen was completely unfamiliar with the post-intercourse etiquette of regular. All his previous encounters had been transactional in one way or another, where at least one of the participants was expected to leave the premises as soon as the deed was done.

Yassen had never been less inclined to move.

“Alex.”

“Yassen. We’ve lived together for what, almost a year?” Alex asked, faux-casually, as if they weren’t both fully aware of the exact date at which Alex had dragged him back from Russia. “I know perfectly well how particular you are about your laundry. And your folding. And the recycling.”

Yassen sighed, and Alex pushed him unto his back on the mattress, smoothly moving to straddle him.

“Yassen, look at me.”   


Yassen couldn’t bear to look at anything else. It wasn’t even noon yet, and Alex shined in the sun streaming through the window.

“What do you  _ want? _ Remember, 50% you?”

Yassen’s hand clenched on Alex’s thighs and he frowned. With a gentle smile, Alex trailed a delicate hand up his chest.

“Do you want this?” Alex asked again, waggling his eyebrows at him. Yassen could only look up and down at their very naked bodies, and once at the wet spot they had left on the other half of the bed for good measure.

“Nope. Words. Sentences.” Alex scolded, before hesitating, looking away from him. “I- This- I don’t-”

His hands curled around Yassen’s shoulders, short nails digging into the muscles.

“Alex.”

His partner took a deep breath, his whole chest expanding with it, before he looked back up at him, jaw clenching.

“I don’t make a habit of being anywhere I don’t wish to be.”

Alex’s hands clenched, but he rolled his eyes.

“You’ve been working for people you dislike for over twenty years.”

“I’ve been working  _ away  _ from people I dislike for twenty years.” Yassen pointed out. Before he started his partnership with Alex, he had not had physical interactions with any of MI6’s brass for almost 8 years. “And because of it, I have been allowed by your side for over two of those years.”

“ _ Allowed _ .” Alex scoffed, fingers tapping an uneven rhythm. “I’ve been trying to seduce you since day three. Bloody hell, day zero if you count Asunción.”

Yassen’s brain petered out yet again, and he stared up at Alex.

“You  _ had  _ to have noticed.” Alex told him, amused and self-deprecating.   
  
Yassen could only blink, rushing through their two years of partnership in his mind.

“I was always touching you!” Alex exclaimed, pushing his hands against his chest as if proving a point.

“I thought you were trying to put me off balance.” Yassen explained flatly. Alex snorted again.

“As if little old me could put the great Yassen Gregorovich off balance.”

“Frequently.”

Alex stilled, then dove for a kiss, as if trying to taste the confession on Yassen’s tongue.

“When?” He asked, his breath fanning across Yassen’s cheek.

“Russia.”

Alex stole his breath again, pressing his whole body against Yassen’s. Yassen’s orgasm was much too recent for anything to reawaken, but he relished Alex’s weight, shifting to push more of their bare skins together. 

“Bloody hell, Yassen, if I’d known the key to your bed was showing up at your place with wine, I’d have done it way before.”

“I think the separation has more credit in my… realisation.” Yassen edged.

“Your realisation.” Alex chuckled. “I was going crazy trying to find your stupid ass, and you were just what, lounging around with a glass of sipping vodka, realising you liked the cut of my gib?”   


_ Some days your absence drove me to distraction. _

“Not exactly. But you caring enough to come find me… It wasn’t expected.”

Alex’s fingers turned into claws, grabbing at the meaty parts of his arms. Yassen tightened his grip around his waist in agreement, content to hold him until Alex relaxed once more, secure that Yassen wasn’t disappearing any time soon.

“Seeing you again proved enlightening. Beyond what I had expected, and prepared for.”

“Tell me about it. I had just about convinced myself you weren’t as hot as I remembered.”

Yassen felt himself flush, which was ridiculous. He was aware he wasn’t an unattractive man. He and Alex had been having enthusiastic and mutually appreciative sex only minutes prior. But having Alex confess so easily that he found him pleasing...

“I was this close to beg you to fuck me over the kitchen counter.” Alex admitted with a leer and pointed shift of his hips. Yassen’s eyes closed in pleasure despite himself.

“I made sure there were two perfectly pleasant beds in that house.” 

“It’s a  _ good  _ counter, Yassen.”

Yassen’s hands drifted to Alex’s ass again, massaging the muscle, humming contentedly at the feeling of Alex’s cock twitching back to life against his navel.

“There are evening flights to Saint-Petersburg every day.” Yassen mused casually, opening his eyes again to stare at Alex.

“Jones won’t be thrilled if we just skip town.”

But Alex was already smiling down at him in anticipation, hips rolling just so.

Yassen’s smile would have made a shark blush.

“Even better.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And it's done! I had a ton of fun with this one, I hope you did too! Please tell me what you thought <3


End file.
